The smallest of tired smiles appeared on Terrence's face when she appeared, pleased to see her even when she wasn't in human form, but her reaction to him quickly made it disappear. He didn't say anything, didn't know what to say, didn't know if words were the right thing for this. Words often weren't the right thing, for them.
It was a small consolation that he was almost too tired, too wrung out, to feel the effect of the way she was still looking at him. He hurt, everywhere, but he'd gone far past the point of being able to discern emotional from physical pain, if they had even been separate for him to begin with.
"No," he said. He didn't step forward, though he wanted to. He gave a little laugh, lacking in mirth, and lifted a hand to run through his hair, looking down at the ground. "You know what I did today? I killed my parents, who deserved it, and before that, I killed a woman for touching my jacket. Then I went out and hunted a werewolf. I'm fully aware that probably makes a terrible person in most people's eyes, but I never thought you would hate me for any of that."
He could guess at what she thought, but he wasn't going to say it. If she wanted to deny it, fine, he wouldn't care. He just wanted her to stop looking at him like he was less than mud on her shoe, or worse, refusing to look at him at all.