"Okay," Owen agreed, frowning as he nodded and looked away, accepting this answer but unable to pursue Vincent's feelings. He decided to offer a glimpse of his own, in fairness (and also because he knew he'd scored some horrible points when discussing his mother that he was already regretting and simply couldn't admit to yet). He looked back at Vincent, his expression as weary and sad as his sire's was.
"I get that. I was the same way, really... loved you like a father and then a friend and then... in love with you. Sometime. It just... happened, I guess. I get it, I just... I'm really mad at you, though, right now," he interjected fiercely, scowling at his sire. "And I feel like if I don't know me, then you can't so... it's all more lies." His expression softened, the enactment of his feelings concluded. "I'm... defensive. Sorry," he mumbled, his expression shifting worriedly and his resolve failing yet again.
He needed to go before he either cried some more or threw himself at Vincent and begged him to make it all better. "I should go," he announced and spun towards the stairs once more.