It was a strange conversation. They were talking about him, but it wasn't him yet. His instinct was to try and make it better. He wanted to be gentle and loving, he wanted to reassure her, but it wasn't him it had to come from. Not yet. It was an unfamiliar pain, an ache for what was to come. "I'm sure I still love you. I can't imagine it otherwise," was the best he could offer. He knew what he was like - he knew that he could push people away. Never quite to the extent she was describing, but depressingly enough, he could recognise the possibility in himself.
His smile grew a little wider at that news, feeling an odd little flutter of happiness despite the dark mood. "Miller. Poor little darling," he joked.