That was the problem with the two of them, wasn't it? Both of them were so stubborn about things that neither of them made any leeway with the other unless they simply didn't admit anything was wrong and moved on. Not the healthiest, no -- but few parts of Grayson's life, if he were really honest about it, were healthy. It was silly and cliche to say that he showed his feelings much better than he articulated them with words, but it was true.
He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him and attempting not to become dizzy with the sensation. She certainly hadn't been the only one craving this for the past year. Surely she'd know that he was a man of few words; she couldn't expect an apologetic and tearful speech from him.
Still. She was one of the very few people who could bring out feelings of guilt in him, and one of those people was -- dead. Not coming back.
"I never meant," he began carefully, "for this to hurt any of you." He'd been so sure in the beginning that he could take control of the slow but sure emotional break that was happening, sure until it was too late; now it was too late to keep that spiral from happening. All he could do, really, was apologize in his own awkward and roundabout way.
"And understand that I would not say this without complete certainty: it is over now. Done with."
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