“Oh, don’t stop, don’t stop to laugh. Laugh if you must, but don’t stop.”

“Well, I plough on. But no, I didn’t think to suggest that she and I might have you both, together.”

“No. That would be too … I couldn’t … anyway, she would never …”

“No, of course not. When I have you, I want you all to myself. And I want you to have me, all to yourself. I’d have no dilution of this … concentration, this … tenacity.”

“What, then?”

“Just to watch, just to see you with her.”

“She still would not.”

“I know. I wouldn’t expect her to. And secreting myself within some hidden space, like a courtier in some ancient tragedy, would be absurd.”

“Put it from your mind, my love. Concentrate on this, on now, on us.”

“The more I do, the more I want to see you and know you in all your states, in all your moods and passions, and that must include with her. Just once, just to see, later, not at the time. And it would be so easily accomplished; I can source the sort of means no civilian or journalist can find.”

“Oh, dear gods, you’ve thought about this. You’re serious! No, no, still; don’t stop …”

“Serious, ardent. Please. It would mean so much.”

“It might mean my job! My career; all my standing. She’s the president!”

“She is president for thirteen more days, as I am a septame for thirteen more days. All that means nothing then and already starts to mean even less now. What does matter is that she is a woman, you are a woman and I am a man.”

“But still …”

“Still nothing, my love, my beautiful love. We strip off our importance with our clothes. That’s all that matters; not our titles. They only have meaning in public, not in moments like these, when we are purely, perfectly ourselves. Only a man – a weak man, a hopelessly curious, desperate-to-know man – asks this of you, my Virisse, not a politician. Just a man. Your man, your man, your man.”

“But if … if … if …”

“I’d protect you. There would be no risk. And so close to the end of this world, the start of the next, who really cares? All the rules are questioned now, all the laws loosened. Everything is licensed. Like this, and this, and this.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh.”

“And I’d make sure nothing would happen to you. I swear; I swear I swear I swear. Even if anything was found, it would never be traceable to you or I. Say you will. Say yes. Say it for me. Say you will. Say yes, say yes, say yes. Say it.”

“… Yes …”

The Simming Problem – in the circumstances, it was usually a bad sign when something was so singular and/or notorious it deserved to be capitalised – was of a moral nature, as the really meaty, chewy, most intractable problems generally were.