Michael ran his hand through his hair, which fucked it up - he really needed a haircut, it was getting to where he had to actually comb it and it tickled his ears, he oughta take a razor to his head and get it back down to a buzz cut soon - quit distracting yourself and get to the fucking point, Mikey. He took a deep breath and launched into a rapid speech.
"Look, Liz. I like you. I like you a hell of a lot. I like what we got going on, and I - look, I never meant to do anything that'd fuck us up, okay? But - here's the thing, right, somebody else from - I hate callin' it 'home,' fucking Arena - the Spy's here. And - we usedta be - involved, I guess y'd say. And - fuck, fuck me, this is all fucked up, okay? 'Cause - I don't - I don't wanna lose you, Liz, but - I don't wanna lose him again either. He's been dead t'me twice already, and I don't wanna lose him for third time's the charm. And I mean, I know we're - we never said you and me was, like, we're a Thing, yeah, but we never - but I still don't guess you'd really want your - whatever I am - seein' some other guy at the same time, huh? So I figured I oughtta just tell you straight up so you'd know, and not, like, y'know, make you buy me fuckin' dinner first, and - I'm an asshole, I know, Liz, and I'm fuckin' sorry..."
He was miserable, clearly and obviously miserable, standing there with one hand thrust down into his pocket and the other holding on to the back of his neck like he was keeping his head on and a look on his face like a puppy that'd just been kicked into a puddle and didn't think it deserved to crawl back out of the mud.