[Whatever he was expecting next, it's not reassurance. With his walls so thoroughly knocked down, that shows, too, eyes wide with surprise. Some part of him fights against it, but — after all of this, that would be a ridiculous thing to lie about. So maybe it's true.]

[He lets the words percolate, settle, saves them to sift through later. His smile is faint, exhausted, and mostly genuine.]

Thank you. I appreciate that.

[Even if he's still trying to decide if it's true. Right now, that barely matters. He hesitates, then deliberately stretches his fingers out wide on his knees, releasing the tension.]

I understand. Whatever you need to do. But . . . I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't intend to.