His eyes didn't so much as waver when she turned and walked towards him. He knew he'd spoken hurtfully; he half expected a slap. A shadow of need flittered across his eyes just before she came to a halt and it took him effort to not close the gap between them. He hated that he was so weak all of a sudden.

"I moved out, you know. A month ago."

Her words steeled him, however. If only because his pride reared its head with terrible need in that moment.

"Hurrah for you," he snarled.

"I'm staying with a friend. It's temporary.."

"Bet my sweet ass it is," he interjected.

"..until I find my own place."

"Or break another heart?" he questioned, not aware in his own bitterness that he'd admitted far more than he had intended to.

The sound of his name next on her lips had his jaw tightening, his hand bringing the Newcastle forcibly back to his lips to drown out the groan of agony that wanted to so desperately escape him in that moment. She couldn't begin to imagine just how often he'd imagined that he'd heard her speak his name over the last months. His head had jerked towards phantoms of her more times than he cared to count; thus when she gave her apology and turned to leave he was pushing off the wall and grabbing her wrist before she could fully turn the knob.

"Did it ever matter to you that I did care, Char?" he asked after a full minute of silence, his voice hoarse. "Do you have any idea how bloody hard it was for me to show up at your manor time and again only to have you treat me like some bloody wad of gum on your shoe? Do you even care that I spent night after sleepless night wanting to do nothing more than to send you an owl? Hell, I didn't even come home most nights because at least, at the office, I didn't think of you when I closed my fucking eyes. But," he released his hold on her wrist, "you can fucking run again. You've said your piece; you've opened yourself up as much as you ever will. I hope it's enough to soothe your guilt. I really do."