2. Never say sorry for what you meant to do.
headfirst
He stumbles through life because that is just the way he does things, and with stumbling inevitably comes collisions.
He's gotten pretty used to the word "Sorry."
"Sorry," he said as Mom cried, rocking him over and over because there was no cure.
"Sorry," he said when he knocked over a sandcastle at the beach. Beast Boy glanced across the towels and sunbathers, at Cyborg and Robin, diving indiscriminately across the sand for the football they were tossing, not a crying toddler in sight. He'd only been walking to the bathroom. He made another sandcastle to make up for it, but it wasn't as good, so he said "Sorry" for that, too, and bought the kid an ice cream.
He falls off the bed a lot, face mashed into the carpet. Usually he's too tired to get up again. "Sorry," he'll mutter to the floor, just in case it's upset at the close proximity.
"Sorry," he says as he collides into Raven in the hall. He grabs her shoulder to steady her balance, but only ends up throwing himself off and has to catch her other shoulder, and then he's okay but a little closer to her than is socially acceptable, and since he's sure she'll mind a lot more than the floor will, he says, "Sorry."
She says something about it being fine, whatever, and that draws his attention to her mouth, which is sort of right there, and he feels a little unbalanced again and doesn't so much kiss her as…bump into her lips.
Raven doesn't seem quite as bothered as the floor was, after all.
Many moments later, he gasps, "Sorry," pulling away, breath hitching. "Forgot about breathing."
"As long as it doesn't happen again," Raven frowns, so he dutifully sucks in some air as she sinks a hand into his hair and reels him in again.