Devin's fingers curl around the Fool's wrists with as much delicate tenderness as the Fool's touch against his face; they are, together, cradling something new and fragile, held together as much by hope as by scar tissue.

"I promise."

How immense the temptation to lean into these strong arms is now, to let his own fear of inadequacy be something that he buries deep in his heart and leaves to the shadows. Except the light will fall upon them eventually, if he and Devin truly are to embark upon this adventure together, and if in that moment Devin decides he cannot stay--

It would hurt, immensely. Yet he would rather endure that rejection than have Devin feel obligated to stay out of some misguided sense of chivalry. (The Fool has spent more than enough time managing the stubborn bull-headedness of Chivalrous men.)

"You must--" His voice falters and he squeezes his eyes shut; there's a near imperceptible tremor in his hands now. Recovering himself, he goes on. "Devin, if I am not what you need--" or what you expect, he could say, "--then you must make me the same promise." He forces himself to open his eyes, to look into Devin's unwaveringly. "I will not be where I am not wanted."