She's so beautiful, it's like an ache in his chest, knowing that he had her and then he stupidly let her slip through his fingers.

He's replayed their argument hundreds of times in his head, a self-flagellation that never gets any less painful no matter how many times he forces himself to live through it, always wondering what he could have said differently to avoid the outcome that they've been forced to live with. Benedict has always quietly prided himself on his ability with words, the quiet skill he has in being able to diffuse a situation before it grew too volatile. He'd had plenty of practice, following Gwen around the way he used to, but apparently all that skill flies out the window when it comes to someone he loves.

"I-I did," he confesses, the hard line of the counter digging into his lower back as he presses himself against it, avoiding her eyes. It hurts to look at her. "I do," he adds quietly, nearly a whisper.