A slightly confused frown pinches Devin's brow at that admission. Perhaps it had been a poor assumption, that someone as close to the Fool as Fitz would have returned that affection, in part or in whole. True, their interactions in Aifaran had been tense, but to produce the shame he can see in the Fool's face it must have gone beyond tense into outright painful. It makes their positions a little more balanced, though Devin would rather have spared the Fool that.

And then there is that question, sweeping away the molten ball of anger about Fitz that had formed in the pit of his stomach.

Devin has made a practice of burying his desires for most of his life. Killers do not deserve happiness. There are so many answers he could give, and each weighted too heavily to put into words now. Freedom. Peace. A family. Safety to live without looking over his shoulder, or worrying that he will bring ruin to those around him. Safety to trust and to be vulnerable. To be more than a tool and a weapon. To be whole. To never be a disappointment again. To assure the Fool he won't fail.

He tips his forehead down against the Fool's, taking a shuddering breath. "Promise me something," he pleads quietly, lightly curling his fingers over the Fool's wrists. "If I can't-- be what you need, if I'm not enough--" If and not when is Devin's only concession to a withered sense of hope, "--you will put yourself first. Promise you will not keep me around out of kindness."

I am broken pieces pretending to be whole. That has not changed in the past month, and it may not ever. Devin refuses to become a chain around the Fool's neck.