[The teddy bear, of course, is hers. He holds onto it while she speaks even though she's staring at it only out of some creeping sense of protectiveness, some vague concern that she will hurt the bear as she hurt him and, worse, in doing so hurt herself.

He unfolds his arm, keeps one hand craned back so that when the teddy bear falls loose of his grip he catches it again, and holds it out as he walks once more within range without hesitation. He does not move his eyes from her.]

I know you won't. I apologize for my mistake before - I should not have crowded you. [His fingertips pulse subtly tighter on the bear's back, but relax again just the same; it sounds like an afterthought when he adds,] I'm not angry. [But it's not.]

We are friends.