[ He could tell her -- I've been trained to turn every weakness, every form of intimacy, into a weapon. He could confess -- I've been playing games with prizes of life or death, and I don't know how to stop. He could lean in, press his lips to hers in a sweet restorative kiss that would explain everything without anything having to be said. A couple of breaths pass before he recognizes that he's never going to do any of these things. Instead he remains at a distance, eyes focused on the window. ]

[ Finally, setting the drippy fruitsicle back in its tray, he turns to face her. Not a direct glance; his gaze is dipped, mouth downturned. It's not shame, because that's not how Hei functions -- what's past is the past, and he doesn't see the point in dredging it up, but sometimes these discussions are necessary. She tries to keep it fun and simple, but I can't let her. Because I'm incapable of it -- or because I think I am. ]

[ But I can't keep treating her the way I do. She deserves better than that much at least. ]

[ A long moment of silence stretches out before he speaks, quiet and steady, ] I know I haven't been fair to you. And I'd like to say that I could do better. Or at least differently. But -- [ An exhale. ] Sometimes I'm not sure. All the things I do, the ways I behave -- none of it makes sense to you, I know. But they made sense in the environment I lived in. They were justified by that environment. It's like... knowing you can't live with certain things outside of a war. So you choose to stay at war. Does that make any sense?