Chemistry? I suppose. The connections, spoken and unspoken, between characters, the relentless vacuum of space between them desperate to be filled, the spark of passion that blazes alight when least expected or convenient--I do care about that. I just dress it in the trappings of the genre and tool the conventions to my use. I have very little interest in plot, you see, so romance was the only genre left to me. I wonder what it must be like, to be immortal. I don't suppose you could ask her? [He's not going to mention that warping space and time to leap through reality is something highly-skilled fighters can do as well. Battle fields have their own rules, after all.] He and I are bound by one name, and ordering him is like ordering a limb of mine to move. It's simply how we were made. I, to give orders. Him, to take them. I, to bear the damage of our fights. Him, to deal it. [Someday, he'll get tired of answering that question.] The ears, like the tail, are a vestigial and external symbol of virginity. I get cruder every time I have to explain, don't I? Terribly sorry. They fall off after the first time.