For a few seconds, leaving the warmth of this bed, of Aymeric's arms, is utterly unthinkable. Why would he be anywhere else? There is aught on the star worth seeing, worth doing, more than this - cool eyes staring up at him sleepily, warm arms wreathing his torso. And so, he lingers a moment more, caught in the feeling, the daydream of being the sort of person who can forge a lasting bond, who might see a future in finally seeing color.

He shifts, pressing his face, briefly, into Aymeric's hair, leaving a kiss on his crown.

"There is pressing business," he says, certain-sounding enough that it feels less like he is trying to lie. Like the sudden patter of his heart is anything but. He should say no more. Leave it at that. No room to stumble further down this precarious path, not when he must focus himself so wholly elsewhere.

Except... he can't. Much as he should, he cannot burn this bridge.

"Call on me, should you need me 'fore I find you next."

Because he knows, as much as he shouldn't, he will be back to look into those eyes, to wind himself into those arms. To feel comfort.