If you're sure.

[Even if, as he says it, he knows Sam is sure. But there's still a difference, to him, between saying these things aloud, and knowing them in their heads. It feels more real.]

[Part of him -- more than part. Most of him is held tense, uncertain, after he speaks. Looking at Sam with a lot of hesitant expectation. Wondering what the answer will be. Hoping there's a positive chance. That this isn't something that will wreck them. This isn't something he can't fix.]

[Because he is sorry. He does want to be better. He just wants to know there's a chance.]

[And when it comes, he feels his eyes shut. Feels his chest, wound tight and too heavy, loosen. Lighten. Now he takes the offer of the shoulder. Now he can't keep the walls up so firmly, so tightly. He leans forward with relief, hands on Sam's shoulders in return.]

Guess I thought... guess I have the habit of jumping to worst case scenario. [It's depreciating. Even as the relief and affection flood along, undeniable.] Thinking I've gone too far is... I don't want that to happen.

Not with you.

I'm sorry I still... I'm still like that. Like this.