Apologizing should not be this hard.

Of course, most apologies weren't for repeat offenses. And most repeat offenses didn't involve a series of escalating incidents over the course of years. It had all started back in high school, when he'd accidentally tripped and spilled his soda all over his classmate's project. Which wouldn't have been too big a deal if said project hadn't been due that day. And worth half the grade.

It had gotten worse from there. A broken phone. A destroyed sketchbook. An accidental punch. A broken wrist. At least three more broken phones. An actual fire. He didn't talk about the actual fire.

So now here he was, in his mid twenties, at the same former classmate's door, with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates and a check for the car repairs. Again. It was like he had been specifically chosen by the gods to ruin this person's day, every single time they met.

The door swung open, revealing his target, and he held out the flowers and the chocolate, a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey. Uh. Sorry. Again. For the..." He paused for a moment, doing the mental math. "One hundred sixty-fourth time? No, wait. One hundred sixty-fifth. Yeah."

There was a long pause. He shuffled awkwardly. Something cracked beneath his feet.

"Please tell me I didn't just step on another delivery package."