[He knows apologizing for it isn't what Art wants, either... but he has to, quiet as his voice is, knowing exactly what hole he fell into in his thinking, knowing how little it helps to think like that, dwell on the things he can't influence.
He frowns, the words it's fine, I ain't sleeping anymore on the tip of his tongue before he swallows them back -- it's not fine. And for once, he doesn't have to pretend like it is.
So instead, he hums, gives a slight nod, in agreement; he's damn glad he's out of there, now.] And I'm glad you didn't have to... [He trails off, doesn't finish the sentence, but the watch me be there and be able to do nothing about it hangs there, unsaid -- it's painful enough to think without saying it aloud. He remembers all too well how he felt then, with Art there instead.]
... I guess there ain't a choice of leavin' this party. [If the mandatory attendance is anything to go by. And yet, he'd just rather be with Art, somewhere more quiet.]