[He does want to run. That fact is undeniable. But he also doesn't want to burden Faust with trying to make him feel better about the fact he screwed up. He screwed up, trampling over things that were intrinsically important to Faust, assuming he understood, or even understood better. Now, between that, his memories, and the fear he's ruined things for good, he feels panic building that he only half understands and that's not fair to put on Faust.

Which is why he doesn't know what to feel when Faust blocks his way out. His gaze darts to the window considering it for a split second. But then he's blurting--]

No...! [He coughs.] No...

[Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe. Not because he needs it, but to focus.]

I don't... want you... to go... I don't... want to hurt you... I'm... glad you... trust me... [Those words come out particularly quiet, not quite believed, but treasured.] My head's... um... scrambled... things... old things... Want to... do things right... [He tugs at his hood.]