she releases a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the sound small in the quiet between them. the tension in her shoulders loosens just a fraction at his nod, at the follow-up questions that don't come. he's letting her keep her secrets, gracious as ever, at least for now, and some of the anxiety wound tight in her stomach eases because of it. but the guilt stays, heavy and unyielding, gnawing at her insides like punishment she knows she deserves.
her eyes flutter shut, not to avoid him this time but to surrender to the relief of not being forced to explain what she can't yet put into words. when she leans into his touch, it's slight, tentative, as though she's testing whether it's safe to allow herself to lean on him, if she can do so without placing the burden she carries onto him as well. her free hand lifts almost unconsciously, mirroring the earlier motion, fingers curling lightly around his wrist where it rests against her cheek. the uneven texture of her other palm against his skin says what her lips don't and confirm what he's already noted aloud. there's more.
"i'm sorry." the words are quiet but unwavering, soft enough they could disappear into the space between them if he weren't so close. when her lashes lift, her gaze catches his, like she needs him to see the truth there, to prove she means it, so he’ll believe it even if she can't give him the rest.
she nods in answer to his question about the cuts, though the confirmation does not come out verbally. she doesn't move his hands away. she keeps them there, grounding herself in their steadiness, before leaning forward until her forehead comes to rest lightly against his shoulder. the closeness makes her voice come out even softer, muffled but certain.
"i didn't want you to be mad at me." the confession is fragile, laced with remorse, but it carries something else too. exhaustion, maybe, from holding so much alone for so long. it's not an excuse, she knows as much. she shouldn't have lied to him. but it is the honest reasoning he's looking for. a beat passes before she adds, even quieter, "didn't want to make you worry, either." her fingers tighten just faintly around his wrist, the smallest reflex, like she's bracing herself for him to tell her she's failed at both anyway.