[ It's hard not to be charmed when Thancred is so adept at putting his inherent charm to work: pressing his calloused hand against the Elezen's broad but softer palm, stepping up only slightly too close, gazing up at him with those large, kind eyes. Urianger smiles back, even as he feels his stomach flop with a mix of both indecision and anticipation. He does want Thancred here, he realizes, even more deeply than he'd thought, and he is not entirely sure how he ought to feel about that, considering the circumstances in which the desire has arisen. ]

The same as I have e'er done. And I am glad for thy company in it.

[ Books. The scent of old paper, the quiet they instill in others, the wisdom hidden between their covers, waiting to be rediscovered the moment someone chooses to takes the time to do so. Urianger's greatest passion, and the thing he always returns to when faced with a problem, whether it be personal or the kind that's put the entire world in jeopardy. Late nights among books are hardly unusual for Urianger, but rarely would he ever invite someone to join him — which, he's realizing, is in fact what he'd done tonight, without consciously meaning to.

Urianger steps away from Thancred, but for the sake of leading him back to the nook he's nested in. As they turn the corner, he squeezes Thancred's hand before hesitantly releasing it and stepping close to his table, piled with books. ]

My friend... how dost thee fare these recent days? I pray fate treateth thee and thy ward well?

[ The questions come out somewhat awkwardly, even for Urianger, as the events of their immediate future continue to preoccupy his thoughts. ]