He's sorry. He's sorry. He is. He never means to do this - to draw people close, to open a door that someone else could walk through. His efforts to ensure that no one feels alone the way he did, by nature, requires that he leave that avenue available to be traversed at a whim.

He's sorry.

He's done something terrible, and he did it to a child of all people, because the worst part of all of this is that he knows that she means it, and that she meant every word.

"You, uh." The words rasp - with disuse, with emotion he can't or doesn't want to name. Fuck, he's shaking. His eyes are too wet and his fingers can't seem to hold still, flitting up to grip her shoulder and then pushing up through his hair and then scrubbing at the heat on his cheeks. "Guess I - I owe you again, huh?"