[He looked away because he couldn't look at her, not when she looked like that.] No, not really, not all the time, not once you-- [He stops; it was an honest answer. He'd only been happy sometimes, and the guilt had made it near impossible. Things had felt so much complicated after that night, and he was constantly reminding himself that he just wanted her to be happy, and when she was, it made it easier to forget it was all a lie. Sometimes.]

The whole thing was your idea. You agreed to it. And you were miserable, I was just trying to-- [He stood up, turning his back to her.] Guess it really doesn't matter now. [If he said he was sorry, he didn't think that would matter, either, so he's not even going to bother.]