"Neither do I," Sean sighs, quiet and chastised in a way he doesn't generally let himself get. He wants her to actually make him believe he can tell her anything, because for maybe the first time, his self-imposed avoidance of this doesn't feel like second nature, something automatic and obvious. It's like a weight pressing down on him or a clamp over his mouth, stifling and silencing him. "It wasnae s'posed ta be like this," he adds, closing his eyes as tight as he can, because if he's going to cry, it's not going to be now, it's going to be at a time and place of his choosing where he won't have to worry about making her feel horrible on top of everything else.