*once again, is struck by the uncomfortable (guilty) impression that you know*
*murmurs, utterly ashamed that he can't meet your gaze (and knowing that you've probably noticed, you're observant like that)* I told him it was too late. And it was. I only called to warn you, and I knew she'd kill me for it, but you know? It really didn't matter at that point...
*swallows again and inhales slightly, the apology tickling the back of his throat (oh, oh, but ohshitshitErushit that's an actual tickle which means any second now he'll have to--)*
*abruptly dissolves into a wracking coughing jag, hunching in on himself, one hand fisted at his chest (wriggling the screwdriver around) and the other clenched at the side rail, distantly aware that his eyes are watering and he probably sounds like he's choking to death* *absurdly enough, has enough presence of mind to be a little embarrassed by the whole episode*