Thom found Rook--John, that is--wandering around the edge of Molly, right where it started to bleed into Charlotte.
"Reminiscing?" Thom asked him, and the next moment he found a knife making itself uncomfortably welcome at the base of his throat.
"Even a Cindy professor such as yourself should know better to sneak up on a man this close to the Mollyedge," Rook said.
"I notice you're not actually anywhere particularly dangerous. Did you know I was going to be coming after you?"
"Didn't seem too fucking likely that your were going to leave me alone."
"I'm sorry if I thought you were maybe leaving without me when you left the inn in the middle of the night. I forgot, you're just the epitome of reliability, aren't you."
Rook's eyes flashed, and he pulled his knife away as quickly as he had gotten it out. He turned to look out at Molly. It wasn't a particularly pretty view. "Just thought," he began, and then stopped.
"What?" Thom prodded.
"Shut up and let me think," Rook said. "I just-- I'm going to miss the place, alright? I feel at home here, same as when I was up on Have. It's a place I, shit, I belong. Like that fucking matters for anything."
"I know what you mean, John," Thom said.
Rook flinched. "Don't call me that," he said, "Don't, it's not-- That's not what I meant. That doesn't count. You're not some idiot chasing firefliesand it's not--"
"What--" Thom started, confused, but then Rook has shoved him up against the wall, violently, because what else was there to expect, from him, and then they were kissing, and Thom got it.
"It's not my job to take care of you," Rook finished, and he stepped away from the wall before walking away.
When Thom made it back to the inn, Rook was still there, snoring obnoxiously in his bed. He wasn't halfway to the border already with his things, and that made all the difference.