There's a momentary look of surprised confusion at her confession that she thought he was breaking up with her. It hadn't entered his mind, but as he replays him hiding away from the Slat last night and dramatically waiting for her to come to him today, he can see where it built up into something larger than intended. There's a contrite look that crosses his face as he realizes he didn't exactly set her up for thinking this wasn't a break up talk, he'd been too focused on his own worries of not being good enough for her. "I could have prefaced that I wasn't." It's not an apology, he doesn't believe in those, but he'll acknowledge that he didn't handle the start of this talk as good as he could have.

Hearing the word love makes him sit up a little straighter. They've danced around it but not actually offered it to one another like this. He's quiet a moment before reluctantly saying, "I know I'm not always that great at intimacy in other ways, either. I could work harder at those. Words and things." There's no phobia over being emotionally honest, not like there is with physical touch. He just doesn't always think to put in the effort. "I owe you that." He owes her the truth about his past. He owes her saying simple things like that he's hurt, rather than just avoiding her.

He owes her telling her how much she means to him.

"I do love you. I wouldn't be doing this conversation from hell if I didn't." He gives her a wry look at that. This can't be fun for either of them. The word feels foreign on his tongue, but the direction it's pointed to feels right.