You ask Clement if you can leave

After a long silence, you approach Clement, who's been sitting at his desk.

“…Can I go home now? I kinda have stuff to do.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His brown eyes study you with a certain impassiveness. It's only after a few seconds that he lets out a measured breath—a sign of begrudged acceptance.

“…Fine, you can leave.” He reaches a hand over, squeezing your butt. “But not because I want you to. If I had it my way, you'd be here always. But yes... If you disappear for too long, people might start asking questions. Your shop. Your neighbors. The city watch.” He gives a small, bitter smile. “That's more complications than I need.”

He recites strange and distant problems. Things beyond your hazy comprehension for the time being.

“Go home. Live without me.” His eyes darken a slight, as does the grip on his hand. “But remember. I'm your husband. And you know the way here, so come back from time to time, alright?”

He stands up and begins dressing, and looks at your old clothes, expecting you to do the same.