in these trying times we're not trying

maybe i'm a runaway train, maybe i'm a feather in a hurricane

Flushed and awkward about nudity indeed, the tension in Remi's shoulders relaxes only marginally once both Locke and Maeve are covered. He deflates more still to hear that not only are these not Phoebe's rooms, but that the madame (former, apparently) is gone.

Glancing into the room, the alchemist does as he's told with a boyish shuffle to his step despite his broad frame. Slumping into the chair and offering the woman across from him a bashful smile—his eyes decidedly staying away from the snoozing figure on the bed—Remi ruffles a hand through his curls. "Sorry, I'm.." ..not having sex with my husband? Have had sex with a woman for what might as well have been the first time just the other day? Can very clearly still smell sex in the air? "..intruding.' He manages at last with an apologetic wince.

Shaking his head, her apology entirely unnecessary given it was he who barged in, Remi does his best to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. "I'm Remi. And yes, Phoebe and I are friends. We haven't spoken in some time, but I assumed she was just busy with all of this." He frowns, for the first time looking something other than boyishly awkward as he gazes out the window. "Do you know if she left on her own?"

THE LULLABY

maybe it's a long gray game, but maybe that's a good thing