“Can we pretend that it’s okay not to hate each other in these moments?” I ask quietly, if only to ease my conscience. He sounds as though he might have laughed if he wasn’t so exhausted. “Yes. Pretend.” I’m quiet until I’m not. “Do you regret any of it?” His voice is soft, soothing. “Regret what?” “Us?” A pause. “Regret what happened between us? Even the more recent things?” I whisper, recalling our moment of weakness on the rooftop. He’s quiet for so long that I doze off, only waking when he murmurs, “Sleep, Little Psychic. Regret in the morning.”
