[Something in him lurches furiously at pet, and it makes him start a little, but as he leans back into Star, forcing himself to relax, he can't tell whether it was him or something else. Wherever that came from, he hates it, and leans up to knock his temple lightly against Star's jaw, almost defiant.]

I never knew anyone who thought of their Stand as anything other than a tool before Mista. And he treated them like - like children.

[He misses them. He misses them. Izabel will miss them, too. He wants them back. He knocks his head against Star's jaw again, more weakly this time.]

He's mine. He never was before, but he is now. I don't know what he was before.