He lets out a harsh breath, stopping dead. It's nearly a flinch. That had been so difficult for him to say, and she - Maker, she didn't even register it.

So honestly, what's the point? Truly, what's the point? He'd told her his deepest secret, back during that earlier fight, and she'd been so utterly...indifferent. Never noticed. He'd thought that she cared, because she'd come to him for help; he'd taken that as a sign that she trusted him, that she believed in him. But maybe all she wanted from him was his service. To help her. And he isn't sorry to have done so; to have helped her is one of his prouder moments. But maybe that's all she sees him for - an instrument to solve her problems.

Once, that would have been all he wanted. Once, that would have pleased him well. But he doesn't feel satisfied with that anymore.

So. He tucks a hand into his pocket, and lifts the cigarette to his lips, and braces his back against the wall, needing a moment to recuperate from his thudding disappointment.