Even as the copperplate neon letters above the bar come into view, calling out its name in relaxing green like Tiffany glass, he stops at the feel of Ishiah's strong, calloused hand folding over the crisp material of his black wool coat. Robin lets the touch guide him to turn.

He forces a smile, a watery one which eventually fails entirely, like a break in the winter cloud-cover.

"I'm tired of looking, Ishiah. And I've got too much work to do until at least tomorrow morning. Work complicated by your arrival. But."

But there is nothing that Robin wants more than an embrace now, after seven months of absence. To fit his face into the curve of Ishiah's large shoulder and fill his lungs with the smell of his gold hair. And yet, he doesn't feel that he can have any of that. He feels that, perhaps, he doesn't deserve it, and he knows very well why he feels that way. Though he damns the feeling as soon as it strikes him.

"You know, I am truly sorry that you are here. You don't belong here; you, of all people."