I looked - I've been looking, and... she's not there. She's gone.

[Panic laces his voice and he doesn't know how to get it across in words, to explain that he's been watching for days. He didn't ever find anything wrong with standing in the doorways, watching her when he had time to spare. Smoking a cigarette and seeing her go home for the day, even going so far as to walk around inside her apartment when she wasn't there, just to see if the air of the rooms she lived in felt any different. He of all people would know she's gone. So she's gone.

He can't keep sounding like a broken record, though. And part of him is desperate to cave to someone else's instruction, to be told what to do next. Because he can't do this on his own. He just wants to claw his skin open and scream. He folds into himself a bit, letting Derek wrap the towel around him and he's breathing hard when he dries his hair with it next. It takes a moment but he's coaxed into looking Derek in the eye, sniffing back tears but focusing on the depths of his hazel green eyes.]

I didn't... didn't get to say what I wanted to say. I didn't get her to... to forgive me. To make up, or anything.

[He reaches up, holding on to a corner of the towel but otherwise being useless in helping dry himself.]