the black dog!

He's thankful enough to the waitress, a little glance of acknowledgment and a hint of a forced smile. That doesn't stop him from receding into himself, eyes sore already from the harshness of the diner lighting. She asks him what brought him back; there are a million answers he could give that might be enough. A case, no -- he doesn't work anymore. Money? No, he has too much of that for his own good. The real answer tastes like metal in his mouth. "Uh, I guess --- I guess I felt like it was time." He begins. Time for repentance. Time to face the ugly mess he had left behind with her, with everyone. He had burned his whole life to the ground, and fled while the embers were still burning like a coward. "I was, uh, I was alone... no, uh. Lonely. I've ----" His fingers curl into his palms sharply. He's become out of control.

sorry about the blood loss. do you uh. want it back *holds out my red dripping hands awkwardly*

Kindness is not something he reacts to kindly. He is a wounded dog that has been kicked too many times. Wide pupils regard her, trying to figure out if he can trust her. The panic wins over, and he simply nods, teeth grinding into one another. He doesn't say anything as he follows her out of the building, waiting and watching and needing guidance.

There might be some version of himself that would take solace in that answer. A simple no would be enough to suffice, and he wouldn't dwell on it for days, weeks to come. Alas, he is this version of himself, that will dwell and overthink and wonder what it really means. Nitpick apart her body language and every word she says. She mentions Emma and his throat dries up. "I, uh, I don't think she'll want to -- want to see me..." Or can he just not face the idea of seeing her like this? This bottom of the barrel man he has become. A nothing, a degenerate. Who he should have been from the beginning, perhaps. Ben holds up the diner door for her, ignores the prickling feeling on the back of his neck of prying eyes of the other patrons.