'I'm in no shape to be hunting. I need to step back, 'cause I'm dangerous. Maybe it's best we just...go our separate ways.'
'Well, I think you're right.'
'I was expecting a fight.'
You weren't really sure if you were expecting a fight, but you were hoping-pleading-begging-praying for a fight. Because at least that would have meant that he still cared about you.
The pain in his grass-green eyes told you that. You knew that he was nothing if not practical, and certainly not sentimental. But still. It would've been nice for him to put up a fight.
For you.