She's sorry. Well, technically, she doesn't remember, but still--she's sorry.
His fingers twitch at a photo frame, a piece of bric-a-brac, the edge of a book. His eyes stick to the ground. "It's-- my malfunction. You were-- drunk. It-- I'll go, yeah?"
no subject
His fingers twitch at a photo frame, a piece of bric-a-brac, the edge of a book. His eyes stick to the ground. "It's-- my malfunction. You were-- drunk. It-- I'll go, yeah?"