[ There are still places he won't go, lines he won't cross, but Harold has pushed that boundary just a few inches past where it used to be, and in the gap of that space he finds the possibility of being selfish. Because it is so, so selfish to want to stay with John, to keep him, when he's left things behind at home. He should go back, ensure Samaritan is truly gone; determine what happened to the Machine, make sure there's no traces of her left that can be recovered by an enemy actor; check on Fusco and Shaw and Bear, if nothing else, rather than disappearing to Italy like he can wash his hands of all of it as easy as that.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to be with John, wherever that is. And he knows that John will follow him those few inches further, and not push him farther; knows without asking that John trusts him so completely that he doesn't even need to explain his rationale. Harold doesn't want anyone to blindly follow his orders, but he's stopped giving orders to John a long time ago. What they have isn't like that.

What they have is... something else. And he wants the time to discover what that is, instead of shying away from it, too afraid of loss to take risks.

John runs his hands over his shoulders, a wholly unexpected gesture that inspires Harold, in a burst of affection, to reach up and grab his hands in his before he can completely take them back, holding them loosely between them again. He wants to stay, he gets to stay, he can be here-- not alone in a dusty library with Nathan's face flashing before him, irrelevant-- but in a clean, used, lived-in library, where he's with those that care for him. ]

I won't choose to leave you either, [ he says like a vow. ] Will you... that is, I'll be moving back to the second floor residence in the library later today. You're welcome to join me if you wish.

[ If he stopped giving orders, it's only because now he makes offers, issues invitations. ]