The divide between what's said in the throes of passion versus everyday admiration and compliments paid seems to be a clear one to Crozier. It's never been any other way. Those things are meant to be quiet and reserved, locked away in wit and an exchange of quips lest one person think the other too sincere. But here they both are, cleaned up and mostly redressed, simply sitting close and paying gentle compliments to each other, the urge to laugh and deflect tamped down by a careful, affectionate touch to his face.

"Perhaps in my youth," he tells him. But the truth was he always stood next to brighter-burning stars. Even if handsome in his youth, eyes were always drawn to James Clark Ross. "And later for my sailing, or work on magnetism. But that isn't what you mean, is it?"

He stops himself from leaning into the touch and falling into Rama entirely. "I would though, respect you. Do respect you. From that respect was where the admiration blossomed. I'd never met a man so casually selfless and courageous."