She slides down the other side of the door, the sound scraping like sandpaper over wood, and her soft thud echoes back at him.
"I'm an idiot."
Dragging a hand down his face, he turns his lips toward the door. "You are not."
"Yes, I am." Her head knocks back, the sound hollow and yet heavy, and she sniffles. "Because I'm still going to let you in—"
His breath seizes in his chest.
"—even though I shouldn't."
There is silence and then shuddering tears.
"And I hate myself for that."
Before he can remember to inhale, the door cracks open.
