Slowly, reluctantly, Max shook his head. If there was something she could do, Max didn't know what it was, and he didn't think it was fair to ask her. "You're perfect," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. It wasn't something he told her to make her feel better, he absolutely believed it. Siobhan had never been the problem, and he hated himself more than ever for making her think she was, especially after everything she'd been through. "If I were - normal..." He had to stop. He'd never wanted her to know this about him. He'd wanted to believe he could master it, overcome it, banish it to some corner of his brain or body so small it would stop mattering. If he were his father, or Roger, or the son and brother they'd expected, he would want her. He would be - He shook his head to clear it of images that had never quite felt right. "You're beautiful, and intelligent, and you care so much about people." If only he were normal, surely, surely he would want her?
"I'm so sorry, love," he whispered, hiding his face in her hair, tensed and waiting for her to push him away. He didn't deserve to be so close, and yet he needed her. "I want to be with you. How could I be happy with - anyone else, if it meant losing you?" And Max had never met anyone else he wanted to be with, not really.