we can't make any promises now

It was obvious to Loren, at least, even if Remi wouldn’t admit it, that at least some part of the alchemist didn’t want the librarian here. “Really?” He looked away, voice low and dull, drained of every emotion he’d displayed before. “Then why do the feathers keep appearing in your hair? The ones that appear when you get anxious. Why do you cower every time I raise my voice, even when it’s not in anger?” If those weren’t signs of distress, Loren didn’t know what was. That might be more true than he knew. The other man was changed in ways beyond the physical, and there was no way for Loren to know them. As Remi admitted he only knew part of the story, the summoner slumped. “Not everything, though.” It came out softly, so softly he wasn’t sure the alchemist had even heard. Because if the other man knew everything he would not be showing the Launceleyn such patience and understanding. The kindness in Remi’s voice was killing Loren; it was even worse than his earlier fear, when he’d assumed this reunion would end in strife. This, though, the gentle way the alchemist was treating the summoner was far worse than anything he could’ve imagined. He needed it to end, needed to retreat to where he could escape those blind yet still piercing eyes of the Attuned. “I might not owe you one,” and it was too little too late for one, and far too little, “but I’m sorry anyway.” Even if the gods had wiped away everything Remi knew of Loren, the librarian still remembered. Still knew what he owed the other man. Still knew what the right thing to do was, even if he failed to do it properly every time. Regardless of how the alchemist had meant it, the summoner knew it to be true. “It doesn’t matter.” Gods, he was tired. The rush of grief and anger had passed, leaving this dull, unending ache in his chest. If the alchemist wasn’t in need of an apology, and Loren wasn’t capable of making amends then it seemed past time he ended this. “I should go.” Maybe this time he would actually be able to leave, but he didn’t have much hope of that. Or much hope at all. LOREN Not quite an open book