Bitterroot Valley feels like we only go backwards

As quickly as it had gone, the cold crept back up his chest. He closed his eyes and pressed more tightly to Zamael— as close as he could, as if he might shield himself from his own memories that way. It was futile. All this time spent searching— waiting. Wishing desperately for this day. And now he could barely register the sound of his voice through the raw haze.
I love you, He choked out, chest aching. I love you so much. A pause followed, time to let the words sink in before his next, though the goodbye already lurked heavy under his tone. Alarian needed him— he needed this, but he couldn't allow himself to have it. He couldn't allow himself to break that way again.
But you're lying, He pulled himself from his brother's embrace, voice breaking. Everyone said those words— everyone promised to stay, and none of them meant it. You'll leave again, and I can't— this time, I can't handle it.
Alarian might have walked away, might have attempted to gather up what remained of his dignity and leave with it. But some part of him knew Zamael wouldn't let go so easily; perhaps because he knew that he would not have. So he ran. It hurt— everything hurt. He couldn't stop, though— not until he reached the borders of Bracken Sanctuary, sobbing and breathless.