[ He's not expecting such effusive approval, and Harold flushes awkwardly, hand tightening on hers for a moment before he pulls it back into his lap. Now that he's extended himself it feels like he needs to pull back again. He's all too aware that this decision conveniently lets him run away from the mess he left behind, which he reflects on with a harsh pang. ]
Is it? Mostly I feel like a selfish old man. [ Grimacing at his own cowardice, he adds, ] I want to stay with him, but I don't even know how to look at him right now.
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Is it? Mostly I feel like a selfish old man. [ Grimacing at his own cowardice, he adds, ] I want to stay with him, but I don't even know how to look at him right now.
[ He's just so tired of grieving. ]