He takes a breath. He has no courage left to give - but she'd said yes, and he can't back out now-

"Promise you won't leave."

No, that's not it- that's not right, and he scrambles to amend it. "I mean- I know the train sends people away sometimes, and that's not- I-" He stops, and forces himself to take a deep breath, in and out, shaky though it is, before he tries again. "Promise you won't get rid of me if I do something wrong. Promise you won't- just-" He stops, gesturing uselessly in an attempt to replace the words he can't quite find, and slumps when that doesn't work. "Or if you do," he finishes weakly, "at least tell me."

There is a part of him, deep down, that knows Persephone won't abandon him - not willingly, at least. There's too much kindness in her for that, kindness she hasn't hesitated to share with him. The rest of him needs to hear it said aloud - needs the words to finally quell his anxiety, his terror at being among people and still utterly alone, before he can start stitching together the tattered pieces of his confidence and his calm.