[Leonardo's hand slowly curls to fit Ezio's, fitting like a puzzle piece as his fingers carefully weave in between the other's to further the touch. It's assuring, feeling the hand there, and feeling the warm presence beside him. God, how he wished this wasn't so difficult. Already he felt exhausted and anxious, a combination that never went well with such an overactive mind as his. But he forced himself to focus on Ezio, on his friend, on what he was saying.]

... I suppose I have never conformed to what the world tells me. Neither have many of us who know of the Assassins. If it were not for you, or your father, or your dear mother, or Paola, I would be dead many times over, or worse. I owe my life to the Auditore, and to the Assassins, and I will never be able to repay that debt. You have been far too kind and gracious and merciful towards me, a-and...

[He has to stop for a moment, because he's maybe tearing up a little. Just maybe. His hand squeezes Ezio's out of reflex until he slowly continues speaking.]

I have been lucky. I may be worthy in your eyes, perhaps, but not in theirs. I was imprisoned the April before I met you... did you know that?