Alexander reaches, and his fingers dig tight into Burr's arm. He presses himself against Burr, like he could make himself heavier by sheer force of will, like he could hold Burr down. Nothing about this is simple. Even what should be the easiest of instincts -- nesting -- is fraught, for Alexander, because he remembers a time when he didn't have those instincts at all, when he was something else. The second-greatest shock of this is finding out how much of what he knew was from his body and not embedded in his soul. The greatest shock was finding out how much was his soul, all along.

"You showed me things I was afraid to want." Many of Alexander's words to Burr are confessions, lately. Confessions of desire. Confessions of the past. These are confessions of sentiment, which are much, much worse. It's easier to say this into Burr's throat, tucked in on top of him, than it is to say it to his beautiful dark eyes.

"You've seduced me with -- with books. Respected my mind, or at least pretended to well enough, as you desire my body. Please, don't avoid the question. Please don't lie. Is it really this simple, Burr?" His voice has that soft, yearning quality that it used to get with Eliza. He is a sentimental fool, no matter what his body is, and Burr has brought it out in him. "Don't you still want to bring me low?"