Claudius tilts his head in sincere consideration, teacup in hand. "The people I love are so varied," he says, "Though I've only fallen into a deep love -- a love I can't claw my way out from, no matter how I try -- twice. There was a time where I'd gotten quite adept at finding the exact moment where I felt too much, and it became too dangerous, and then I'd make myself scarce. I tried to make myself scarce with Gertrude, and ..." A flickering hand gesture. "You know how that transpired. And I tried to leave Galahad to God, but I would always think of him in silence. There's something in him, some kindred soul that speaks to mine, and it makes me wish to quiet myself so I can hear it whispering. Sometimes -- thou shouldst know -- I speak to him, and I understand how Wei Wuxian looks at thee, and laugh at thy looks as though thou hast unveiled whole stories unspoken." Claudius laughs at himself. "Perhaps there's a balance in that, for a fork-tongued man such as myself. My first love taught me to speak, my second love to listen anew."