[ He stays leaning back against the counter, the mug in his left hand, while his right hand braces the cold pack against his shoulder. He watches as she moves around the kitchen, licking his lips nervously as he tries to dredge up something to say.
The unfortunate thing is, he has no idea what to say, and his usual method of babbling until he hits on something doesn't seem appropriate in this case.
He drinks from his mug, if only to give himself something to do. ]
—I'm sorry.
[ —which is something he told himself he wouldn't say, because he knows how empty that feels. But what he means is— ]
For yelling at you, I mean. Back there. I didn't— I didn't realize...
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The unfortunate thing is, he has no idea what to say, and his usual method of babbling until he hits on something doesn't seem appropriate in this case.
He drinks from his mug, if only to give himself something to do. ]
—I'm sorry.
[ —which is something he told himself he wouldn't say, because he knows how empty that feels. But what he means is— ]
For yelling at you, I mean. Back there. I didn't— I didn't realize...