[ The fidgeting doesn't go unnoticed and Claude longs to bridge the distance between them, every way imaginable, but there's a time and a place for everything - and while this may be the place, the time isn't right. There are things to settle first. Decide.

So he clears his throat and looks off to the side for a moment at Jamie's question. As always, he's discovered this is part of the process for him, when he says, I'm sorry, Claude thinks, for what, it was my own fault.

Logically, he knows it's untrue. Incorrect. But his system still reacts that way, like it was programmed to do so. And, supposedly, in some ways, it was. ]

Eight years. I was 17. He -- was a lot older. And my high school teacher. It was a mess in every way you can imagine.