"Well, I..." Her reaction isn't outlandish, in fact it's pretty basic as reactions to death go, but he's still not sure what to do with it. "I'm sorry," he says, ridiculously. "I did die. I felt it. I mean, I felt it... before, and it was like that, again." He reaches out and gives her hand a supremely awkward pat. "I mean, yeah, I'm still here and all, but this isn't... I'm not alive. I can't wake up. This doesn't feel like dreaming, to me, it just feels like... drifting. Like I'm out at sea or something."

Or something. He doesn't know how to explain it. Not really his forte.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs again. "I wish you didn't have to find out like this, or..." Or at all. "I just wish I hadn't made a mess of everything."

He doesn't just mean her dream, of course. But it's that, too, and since that's all she'll have context for presently, it'll do fine as a scapegoat.