Your metaphors are terrible. [Chase counters, with too much fondness for it to be a rebuke. He leans closer, as if wanting to catch that breath of a laugh and hold onto it, let it justify all the reasons he's putting himself through something that could be the definition of the term bittersweet. And no, he never developed that particular paranoia, but neither did the suspicion ever completely go away.]

I'm managing. [He throws back to her earlier description of this particular spring. Autumn was the rough season for him and spring's bringing some new hope with it, if not exactly for a fresh start.] One advantage of doing what we do; no one gets indulged enough to fall apart for long.

[And perhaps that's saying too much. He sighs, tipping his head down without the once requisite fall of hair into his eyes.]

I'm sorry I scared you.