It ain't your fault.

She doesn't need saving.

You can't do it anyway.

Goddammit, why can't I?

She doesn't. need. saving.


He swallows hard and grabs his jacket off the table, and when he turns around he finds her looking like she does, and shit, it breaks him just a little bit.

God, why is it so easy to be an asshole sometimes.

Leveling his voice and his expression as best he can, he holds up a hand.

"I'm not angry. I'm not. Not at you."


I can't, either.


He heaves a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

"Look, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, okay? It's me. I'm the insensitive idiot here. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you or confuse you or-- I just-- I dunno, I just thought-- I was only thinking of myself. Of what I wanted. From you. That's what I do, apparently. I ain't proud of it or anything, but it's a hard habit to break, and..." His gaze drifts to the ground, at the toes of her shoes, the hoofprints in the dirt. "I'd be surprised if you still even wanna look at me after what I just said there, but that's the way things are."

He slings his jacket over his shoulder and starts on his way out, but this means walking past her, and he slows down, unable to do it just yet.