[ Immediately, his expression shifts, something like shock settling on his features, because it was not the question he was prepared for. It doesn't ease the shame — he doesn't think anything will — but it doesn't make him feel shamed. There's a difference, maybe, a subtle one, but it's there. His jaw clenches, he can't bring himself to give a verbal answer. Instead, he dips his head forward in a nod, stiff, a silent plea for the aid. As much as this should be his and his alone, he doesn't think he has the mental strength to handle it alone — he could easily lift the body, move it off of the streets and leave it at the morgue or the soup kitchen — but the toll on his already frayed emotions would be severe. ]
… I'm sorry.
[ For being like this, for ruining their plans, for thinking the worst of Jonathan and snapping the way he did because of his own fear. That all goes unspoken, even if it's visible in Abbacchio's downcast eyes, the way he can't meet Jonathan's own. ]
no subject
… I'm sorry.
[ For being like this, for ruining their plans, for thinking the worst of Jonathan and snapping the way he did because of his own fear. That all goes unspoken, even if it's visible in Abbacchio's downcast eyes, the way he can't meet Jonathan's own. ]