His eyes slid shut for a heartbeat when she spoke of the loss of her personal effects, his insensitivity hitting him straight in the gut even as he felt the need to retort that he was sure her room looked the same now as it had before she'd ever moved out. Instead, he managed a low voice apology, rubbing his hand over the top of his head and across his neck as he watched her in the mirror.

"He's fine. Still occupying the second room, yeah," he commented, the last thing he wanted to talk about being Josh. He wanted to cross to her, pull her into his arms and yell at her to feel something. Anything. Even hate for him.

Instead, he remained standing by the foot of her bed, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

"Would you rather I not come," he asked in a quiet voice. "Would you rather I just leave now, for that matter? I'm not sure why you wanted me to come, Char. I thought we were far past stilted and uncertain conversation. I don't like that I was wrong."