He wasn't lying when he said there was no such thing as promises, with him. There never have been. Not in this life or any other. He is, above all else, a wanderer, more liable to blow in and out with the winds than to ever try to resist them-- even for this, even for love.

But for once, he does wish he could promise, even if it was just something like I'll find you again. In every life, I will look for you, now that I know to look. He would mean it, if he said it, but he also knows there's no way he could guarantee it, no way to ever uphold his end of the bargain. Better not to promise, then, even if this is one he wishes he knew how to keep.

"I can't be what I was, even if I could remember," he adds, and it's more Gustavain's voice now, though there's still something achingly familiar at the edges of it. "But then, I don't think you are who you were, either, yes? I think, for me, it's enough to know there is a choice, and that I've chosen this now, regardless of whatever once was." There's a soft chuckle from him, barely a breath, "In that, I suppose it's not much different from anyone else, is it?"