"It's not your fault," he says quickly, waving a hand. "You couldn't have known."

He feels a little better, having found the source of his bizarre reaction to her, and having now spoken it, though it isn't much of an explanation for her. He runs a hand self-consciously over the scars on one arm, wishing now that she couldn't see them.

"It's just, um..." He shakes his head, half-laughing, a brittle sort of sound. "I mean I think that's probably a good thing. Like it should be a compliment."

He doesn't know how to begin to have this conversation. He gets up instead, shaky-limbed but stable, and drapes his hoodie over his arm.

"Let's go outside," he says. "I need to get out of this house."