"Outta line?" he says, frowning a little and shaking his head at her. "Honey, no. Believe me, I remember everything, and there was nothing you did that was remotely outta line, okay? You don't have to apologize for anything. And lost my esteem? Oh, you'll have to try much, much harder if you wanna do that."

He goes over to sit on the toilet seat lid -- the cold, hard toilet seat lid. "And listen, I don't-- ow, shit!" Jumping back up, he winces and rubs his backside. "Jeezus, this's actually hurting more than the riding lesson."

A notion strikes him, and few beats go by that seem to get more awkward as they pass.

"Um. Speaking of outta line. I know this's gonna sound, like, really, sincerely outta line, but-- um. I don't suppose you could-- uh, y'know--" Cue random and vague gesturing at his rear end. "Take a quick peek at it. The bite, I mean. Just to check. Y'know, make sure that it's not as bad as it feels. 'Cause I mean, I couldn't see much of it, my neck and my back are all screwed up, and the mirror didn't help, and-- uh. Yeah. So. Y'know, just a really, really quick look, that's all."

Rambling awkward request is rambling and awkward.