we can't make any promises now

Becuase of the funeral—and lack of body—Loren ended up having had more experience with Edy’s sex toys than he’d ever wanted. ”Probably a wise choice.” The librarian had not been so wise or so lucky, though he’d been smart enough to scrub himself thoroughly after. Then, however, any camaraderie that might’ve begun to build between the two crumbled because Loren was an idiot. As the alchemist’s gaze shot the sky, the summoner’s sought the ground, and he scuffed at the ground below with his foot, needing an outlet for his guilt. ”You’re right. I’m sorry.” He should’ve learned to stay silent by now, but Remi kept prodding at wounds that were still so raw. When the other man called the librarian’s name—commanded Loren to look up—the Launceleyn did, albeit reluctantly. He stood there, quiet as last, wondering what the other man possibly wanted to say that hadn’t already been said. The summoner had said he should go, and he’d been right, but he’d allowed himself to believe that this was better, somehow, this mockery of how their relationship used to be. It was a lie, and he should know better than to lie to himself anymore. LOREN Not quite an open book