[ This should hurt. He thinks it does. Another fuck up, another moment ruined, another time he just didn't get what he was supposed to. He wants to make it up to her, like every other time he's wanted to make it up to her.

So he doesn't know why it is that this feels like a shoulder being wrenched back into socket, a burst of panic at the crest of the hurt when it seems impossible that this could be how it's supposed to feel, then the crashing ache of realignment. Like a terrible magic trick, stuffing the mangled rabbit back in the hat.

When she says it wouldn't have made a difference, he doesn't think it's true. Krouse has thought about the things he could have done any other way long before it ended. They've taken up a lot of his time. What he hears, what matters now, is that it won't make a difference.

They have a lot of past tense behind them. The future tense won't last long. If the only person he's apologizing for is himself, what's the point?

Maybe they can just be here, as long as that lasts. And then it'll be over, and he'll be okay with it. ]

Right. [ He says, an untethered looseness in the rise and fall of his sternum, scar tissue snapped off clean. ] Sorry.

[ He used to apologize like it wasn't the end of the world every time. That's what he tries for. He doesn't think it sounds that far off. ]

So...what do you want to do?

[ He coaxes a smile out of himself while she's still not looking. ]

I looked around before. There's a river that's pretty close. We can't go in it, but it's nice. You can see more of the woods from there.