. . . You don't have to be. I mean, I get it. You'll probably be scolding me for saying I'm sorry in like two minutes or less, knowing me. But . . . I'm not sorry about this.

[He squeezes her hand. It always feels so easy once he gets over that initial moment. He reached out, and now he doesn't want to let go, however long it took him to get there. And her words—

Yeah. It is, isn't it. It's the difference between being alive and really living. If she has that now, he can't be sorry for however it might choose to come out. The last thing he is right now is disappointed in her.]