we can't make any promises now

Loren saw Remi’s hand coming up, and immediately stepped back, panic rising in the Launceleyn’s chest. He didn’t know if it was his general aversion to physical contact or if was the other man’s touch he specifically feared. Regardless, the Launceleyn jerked his sleeves down to prevent even the possibility of contact occurring. The alchemist’s voice gave him pause for a moment, but the summoner resumed his motions soon enough. It meant he didn’t need to meet the other man’s eyes. “I don’t know how to be anyone else.” That admission was difficult, and he continued to look down, unable to bear Remi’s gaze any longer. Loren looked up, however, when the alchemist responded to the librarian’s command with a laughing refusal. He didn’t have a good reply to the comment about issuing orders. Nor did he know what to say about Remi’s new (or maybe not so new) self-confidence: the Launceleyn had always known that to be true, that the other man was skilled and competent. It had just been the Attuned who doubted himself. As for wasting time, well, time seemed to be both in short supply and the only thing Loren could spare these days. He’d find the hours somehow, even if it meant he didn’t sleep. After all, he’d spent long enough in a dream already. But he did know what to say to Remi’s rhetorical question about everything resting on the other man’s shoulders. “You do. You have to get everyone ready for LongNight or else face the consequences. And...” Here Loren hesitated, knowing he should probably stay silent about this next part. Unfortunately, it needed to be said. “And I know about Ronin.” From the king himself, not that Loren would admit that. By extension, Remi was probably feeling responsible for taking care of the blight, but if Loren’s memories weren’t completely off—and the alchemist hadn’t completely changed—the other man must be in agony watching his husband suffer. Although the summoner hadn’t known the unicorns could heal, he couldn’t say he was surprised. It was in line with all the myths and lore he knew about them. Obviously he wanted to know more about this witch—if only to know if she needed to be hunted down, powerful magic or not—but that didn’t seem to be his place. Not yet, not anymore, probably not ever. “I’d have to touch you.” It was spoken more to himself than to the other man. Whether it was a warning or a prayer, Loren couldn’t say; still, he uncoiled himself and stepped forward, calling upon the energy that dwelled within him, causing his fingers to glow with a soft sky-blue light. If Remi didn’t stop him or step away, then the Launceleyn would press his fingertips to the alchemist’s temples, and pour as much magic as the summoner could muster into the spell. It probably wouldn’t be enough. Nothing he did ever was. LOREN Not quite an open book