"You didn't tell anyone," Matt says softly when he ducks his head in closer. He's trying not to drag his feet because that just makes the boots even louder and heavier. The uneasy mix of drain water passing for coffee and sludge passing for spaghetti does little to settle that nauseous feeling, that uncomfortable churning in his stomach.

"I thought you would have said something," he continues, blinking a few times. "But I made you relive all that. And I didn't mean to." Or, in other words, sorry.