[Then what had begun to crumble inside of him turns to dust and is blown away in one rattling gust. The act of breathing becomes manual. His fingers buzz with numbness. His eyes frantically seek Oliver in the darkness, just discerning the edges of him, so close by yet beyond a chasm. He tries to reach for him.]

Oliver...please don't do this.

[He trembles: his voice, his hands, his heart. He suddenly wishes he could reach the lamp and douse them in its light. In the darkness he feels lost, untethered as if in space, with his heels over his head and nothing for his hands to hold. Was it really only minutes ago that they were laughing together, resting against one another's bodies?]

I know I screwed up. I screwed up so badly, I know. Trust me, I hate myself more than you could ever hate me. But this...this isn't fair. You asked me to be honest, and I bared everything to you. You don't get to just send me away. This doesn't just go away.

[Concealing the evidence doesn't undo the crime, nor does it erase his guilt or purge his memories.]

I-- I don't know what I'll do if I have to be alone.