I know. You wouldn't lie to me just to keep me happy, but I also worry that I might be overbearing, sometimes...I need to stop overthinking things and do a trust exercise with your honesty, really.

I'll come over promptly then, biscuits in hand! No chickens, I'm afraid; they're moulting, and I'm not bringing feather dander over so you and Narancia can't stop sneezing.

[Yet another conversational beat, in which his smile is practically tangible, and then--] I love you, Leone Abbacchio. See you soon?

[And soon it is, because it can't be more than like, fifteen minutes before there's an ominous rendition of Lionel Richie's All Night Long at the door. Aw yeah, baby.]