Lucy sat at the bar and stared at her hands. The ice in her untouched drink had vanished long ago. The world buzzed on around her.
She felt him before he touched her. He padded up behind her in a subdued manner that fit him not at all. He stood behind her and breathed for a moment, seeming to gather himself before placing his head on her bare shoulder.
They stayed like that for a long while, only that tiny strip of skin touching, no words being spoken. Finally he whispered, "I'm sorry." Lucy sat staring at her hands.
His arms came up around her waist, barely grazing her. It felt like he wanted to crush her into him, but was afraid of what she might do. He should be; she was afraid of what she might do. Turn and slap him? Turn and hug him? Fight? Flee?
"I really am so, so sorry." A little louder this time, but still for her ears only.
"I know," she replied.
"Can we ..."
"No."
"But if we could just ..."
"No."
He was silent. He unwound his arms, letting them dangle limply from his shoulders. He stayed with his forehead pressed against her shoulder for a few more minutes before letting out a shuddering sigh.
"Okay, then."
He lifted his head and walked away as taciturn as he had approached.
Lucy stared at her hands. She could feel the wetness of his tears still on her back, soaking into her tank top. She stared at her hands some more. "I'm sorry too," she whispered to the man who was no longer there.
Lucy sat alone in the room full of friends she pretended were strangers, looking at her hands and pretending not to cry.