"C'mon, I should have done that like, a week ago." He made her food instead, like a jagoff. He's got his own butterflies now, annoying because they feel so much like his reaction to bad stuff, high pressure, like his body can't tell the difference. He clenches his free hand, unclenches, takes a breath. "Sorry, I'm really shitty at like. Nice stuff? Good things? Let me- let me finish up so you're not walking around with half a sunset."