All this time, I had known that he felt some measure of guilt for what he had done, but not enough to apologize. He had told me himself that he would do the same thing all over again. However. Now that he was bleeding, slowly dying in front of me, it was hard to be angry at him. Because somehow, I knew that if he could choose whether or not to save my life, he would jump in front of that bullet for me again. And again and again and again. He was being so inconveniently honorable.
