The boy isn't concerned with the word love, nor the emphasis she places on it. Karkat keeps saying that love is a human word which means a different thing to everyone who says it, and Autor believes him. Besides, he already knows who Elea is; that she wants him to know who she is is the only thing of note.

No, the word he's focused on is cry.

Rabastan's pinched expression and trembling hands slap the boy full in the face. He'd expected rage, or magic, or an attempt at witty banter. But reducing the man to tears within five minutes of an unexpected visit?

So it's true, Autor acknowledges to himself. I break everything I touch.

That the wizard hadn't immediately cast spells on him--the enforced neutrality of Milliways is gone, after all--and even maintained a veneer of civility in the shop isn't lost on Autor. He was looking for a job, and he found one. And here's Elea, too, to whom he believes I am a threat.

He sighs.

"I'm a student, and I have been interested in Rabastan's discipline of magic," he says stiffly. "We've butted heads more than once about methodology."

He crosses to them, but plants his feet once he's a respectful distance away. "Your hands are shaking," he says to the otter-man, and offers the warmer. "And it's cold here."