"You didn't even know I existed, and if you did? It didn't matter." He was a footnote in their files. Awol Freelancer New York, KIA. He was nothing to Locus at the time. This shame, this apologetic bent- it's retroactive. Because they met each other on their own terms without the baggage and now he can't just up and walk away, even if he wanted to.

And right now he really wants to.

York is still and silent for a long moment, hands braced on either side of Locus' knees on the sofa, staring him down. Like he can pick out the micro-expressions, the trips and triggers and patterns that equate sincerity. "Look me in the eye and say it."

He's not a mirror. He's not a reflection of what Locus had become, of what he's trying to hide from.