She didn't look at him.

"So that's my answer, is it?" He stared at her, hoping, praying for - well, anything. Any kind of response. A show of emotion.

She didn't look at him.

"Fine. If - if that's how it is, if that's - fine." He wanted the weight to lift from his shoulders, now that he knew the truth, he wanted something to happen, some kind of change - he wanted to feel something.

There was nothing. He was numb. He wasn't even angry, he just felt cold.

"So I'll be going then."

Her back was to him now, as he tugged a coat over his shoulders. She made no move to stop him.

"I thought - I thought you cared enough to say something. Even if it's just to say no, you don't feel that way, that you never - " His voice was catching and choking, was this the emotion he wanted from her? "That you couldn't feel that way about me."

He was an expert in her body language, in the tiny signs she made when she was trying to hide an emotion - her fists clenched, and he realised why she wasn't looking at or speaking to him.

Usually he'd sweep her into her arms at this juncture, but today - after what he'd said...

"Has it occurred to you that I may feel that way, but I don't deserve to?" She said it slowly, methodically, quietly - nothing else changed, and he wondered for a moment if he'd imagined it.

"What do you mean, you don't deserve to?"

"That I'm not worthy. Of feeling this at all, let alone for you. You deserve better."

"Look at me." He whispered.

"If I look at you I won't be able to stop myself - "

"I don't want you to stop yourself."

"But I - "

He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

She couldn't stop herself.