[ give him a second. he takes a long, deep breath and sits forward in his chair, tries to collect his thoughts, come up with something to say that sounds even remotely sober. maybe Tavros was right (he's made a habit out of that tonight), they should have waited until they were sober. drinking was a shitty idea.

but after maybe a minute or two of silence, he hasn't come up with anything. nothing sounds right, nothing feels right, it's just not right, he can't. this isn't something he rehearsed or could ever rehearse, and without that he's nothing. ]

I don't... got an excuse. 'Cause there isn't one. But I—fuck, you know I wasn't doing that shit just to hurt you, right? Shit, Tav. I still care about you, I wouldn't even come home at all if I didn't. I just...

[ no. you just nothing. ]

I'm sorry.