[What a trajectory the world is on, when someone is evidently coming to Rufus Shinra as though he's a fucking therapist. It'd be a lie to say that the stated purpose of the visit doesn't startle him a little; given the...everything that's gone on between the two of them up until this point, he would've assumed that whatever request Wriothesley was bringing with him was somewhat more tangible, and considerably less vulnerable. (Surely, surely, this man has had his fill of being vulnerable around him, reduced to a shaking mess in a collar, reduced to lazy smiles and linked arms —)

And yet — there's something to the way he frames it, I don't want to think. The chance to switch one's mind off is the siren song of the overworked and overburdened, resigned to the necessity of whatever it is they carry, yet desperate to put it down in the short term just to ensure they can survive it a little longer in the greater one.]

You're asking for a repeat performance.

[He'd made him drink the green potion. He'd put him on his hands and knees and dragged noises out of his throat and again and again it'd always been the same, I want to be good, I want to be a good boy.]

Well. If we're negotiating a bargain, then my compensation is going to be contingent on my obligation. So let's be clear — just how much control are you willing to cede to me?

[He smiles faintly, tilting his head at the slightest angle.]

There must be something you won't let me do to you.