( It still feels like he messed something up, like he's actively messing something up now, with no real sense of how to un-mess it.

He's quiet for a minute, scrubbing a hand over his face. Thinking, sort of — as much as a sleep-deprived man who struggles in social interactions and interpersonal relationships can manage to do in the span of a few seconds, anyway.

At length, there's a soft sigh. )

Okay, can we maybe... agree to not try to walk out on each other anymore, and call it square? I think we have bigger stuff to worry about now.

( Like the first shots of a war, and being stranded on a turtle at sea. )