He sees it when he opens his eyes, the way she wraps her arms around herself like she's trying to enact a physical barrier between them to join the invisible ones already there. He's too tired, too burned out to do the same.
He hates the way her voice wavers because he knows she doesn't want it to -- not with him. And he doesn't blame her.
"She said she wouldn't talk to you again until I fixed things," he admits quietly. "I didn't think she was serious. I'm sorry."