The look alone is enough for him to draw his hand away like he's just touched lava, his eyes widening at her blunt and direct words. They only make him hurt more, but he can't fault her for them, or for how she's feeling; she's right to feel this way, after all.

It doesn't make it any easier for him to even begin to explain why he had to leave, though. Why he had to leave her like that.

"I'm sorry."

Of course it's worth very little, but it's painfully genuine, that much is clear in every line in his face.

"I had to... I just-- I couldn't go back. I wanted to, so much... I wanted to see you, but it's not..."

His breath hitches, and he lifts up a hand to cover his own eyes for a moment. After a second or two, he drops it back down, shaking his head.

"New York just wasn't safe for me anymore. And I'm not safe to be around. I thought to write you, I just... I didn't know what to say."

Which is why he has dozens of unfinished letters scattered all around the small room he's taking up.