Clint leaned his head back against the wall, guilt filling him. It seemed to fill his whole body, causing him to roll his neck and shoulders, hoping to ease the tension. The memories had been everything. Curling his fingers around the bottle, he tapped, staring at the amber liquid intently. HE was quiet, just looking at the whiskey as though it would tell him his future and tell him what the right decision was.
He almost didn't hear Daph's question but the uncertainty in her voice caused him to look up, brows knitted together in confusion.
"Daph," he said, leaning forward and taking her hands in his, thumbs brushing over her soft skin. "They're good. I didn't mean it- I just meant that they're good. And that makes it worse, somehow."