Don Juan buried his face against Hudson's chest so that his expression wouldn't be legible. He didn't know where this conversation was going to go, and not having to guard his facial expression meant one less thing to worry about.

"For all the difference it makes," he mumbled, about not having tried to make her cry. It certainly hadn't been his intention, but wasn't that even worse in a way? The impact was the same, and he'd managed to ruin the interaction without even consciously thinking about it. It certainly didn't bode well for any future interactions he was meant to have with the girl.

As for how he'd felt... what was he supposed to say to that? He'd felt panicked, twitchy, guilty. He'd sent her an apology letter and then he'd tried to immediately put the incident as far from his mind as possible, distracting himself with alcohol and an ill-advised liaison on the roof of his parents' house during a party they were throwing. If Kaatjie had caught him a week earlier in the month he probably would have found himself wandering towards Griffith's lab space; the unavoidable obligation of having a party at his own house had prevented him from disappearing on a days-long binge. Dean didn't want to hear any of that, and Don Juan didn't want to tell him.

"I don't know," he said, hoping Dean would interpret this less like a lie and more like being too tired to talk about it. "She surprised me. I thought she was in Holland."

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