Her frustrated groan was aimed at her own idiocy as much as his. Perhaps this is what the muggles meant about 'tilting at windmills' as she wasn't certain either of them was entirely sure of the terrain any longer. She felt the fracture in her heart grow as she saw him shrink in on himself. This was was worse than his anger or repeated denial (at least for this second). Her pain was her own. When the dust settled and he'd recovered from his shock and still chose to spite her and play happy family, the pain of losing him would be her company. He would move on, he'd done the bulk of that already, but he had the nerve to look hurt. He looked lost and she couldn't save them both. But even as she thought it, she knew which of them she would try and spare; she had known for months.

He had drawn a firm line in the space between them, but she found herself crossing the space anyhow. What else was there to lose if he pulled away from her again? She knelt next to him, the indignity of kneeling like this irrelevant if she could find anything to ease this for them. She resisted the urge to take his free hand, but her head went to rest on his knee. The minimal contact was something to anchor her as she tried to measure her breathing. "I didn't think this could happen. Not like this." She pressed a kiss to his knee, the gesture feeling insignificant but somehow necessary. "I was so sure I would be what you wanted. I am so sorry, my love. I am so truly sorry."

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