nik

✮ Bad apologies are worse than no apology. Your character says "I'm sorry you feel that way" or "I'm sorry but..." and wonders why the other person is still mad. They're not actually taking responsibility, they're deflecting. Or they apologize way too much for little things, making it about them and their guilt instead of the person they hurt. Show the difference between PERFORMING remorse and actually FEELING it. Real apologies are specific. They name the harm and they don't make excuses.

✮ Sometimes your character doesn't know how to apologize. They were never taught. They get defensive instead. "Well you did X" or "I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't..." They're so afraid of being the bad guy that they can't admit they messed up. Show that resistance. The pride and fear mixing together. The way they're digging themselves deeper while trying to save face. They know they're wrong but they can't make their mouth say the words.

✮ A good apology is vulnerable as hell. Your character has to sit with the discomfort of hurting someone. Look them in the eye. Say "I fucked up. I'm sorry. You deserved better." No buts. Just acknowledgment. And then they have to wait for the other person's response. They don't get to demand forgiveness. They don't get to move on until the other person is ready. Show that powerlessness (Please.)

Steve : Well you know I was fighting with Jonathan, and then I looked at him, he was bloody and angry and I was like "WOW NICE!" And I knew.

Mike :

Mike : I mean when Will saved me he was bloody and angry, and I thought it was super hot...

you're working a shift when a patient, a man who's clearly had too much to drink, is wheeled in with a head laceration. there's something mentioned about a bar fight, but that doesn't deter you.

"sir, i know it's difficult, but i need you to sit still," you say.

he doesn't listen because of course he doesn't. he reeks of vodka and beer and vomit; and he's staring at you like you've sprouted antlers.

he tries to get up and nearly lifts you with him in his confused fit of rage. 'just need to get home,' he keeps saying, speech slurred with glassy eyes.

"sir, please if you could just—"

when he realizes you're not letting up, still trying to get him to settle back into the bed, he's had enough. his hand comes out faster than you can react and knocks you backward so forcefully your feet can't move fast enough to catch you.

dennis makes it to you a step too late. you hit the floor with an unceremonious thud as your back slams against the wall.

and all at once, there's a quiet that rings in your ears as you watch, still on the ground, as dennis takes a punch to the face. the man's surprised, evident by the way his eyebrows shoot up, when dennis doesn't so much as move let alone stumble back. instead dennis spits the blood out of his mouth, painting the floor red, and takes the man's arm, twisting it back as he maneuvers him back into his cot.

"this is a hospital, sir," dennis says, blood now starting to drip from his nose. "if you want to leave ama, against medical advice, then i can get that paperwork started for you; but when that nasty cut on your forehead becomes a problem for you at home, especially because you drank tonight, i guarantee you won't be able to get here fast enough before you—pass."

the man pales.

"now, i'd appreciate it if you apologized to my coworker."

bonus:

"is it bad that i'm turned on right now?" you say, not realizing before the words have already slipped out.