As it turns out, Matt might not be able to see, but he can sit still and listen just fine. He's well aware that he has it better than just about anyone else who has had any sort of serious accident, that everything had come out in roughly the best possible scenario that he could hope for, but he never really thought of the time and place he was born in as a privilege.

Pursing his lips and ducking his head, he tallies up her losses silently and his soft, unfocused eyes trail upwards towards the ceiling before settling down somewhere through or behind her.

"Do you carry these things with you?" he asks softly, tilting his head. For a fleeting moment she could be forgiven for thinking he somehow manages to make eye contact. It's a fluke and it doesn't last before his eyes drift again.

"You should give yourself a second chance. Forgive yourself. Doing what you do, it's... not about the people you let down. It's about the people who have more time because of you." Matt trails his fingertips over his calloused knuckles. It's taken him years to even start to reconcile this, to understand that God's calling is about the sirens that he responded to, not beating himself up over missing the sirens he was too broken and tired to get up for and slept through.