“Your kid?”

Max repeated after you had said you’d lost someone, since he’d been insisting you probably hadn’t experienced the death of a loved one like he had. You’d met Max originally at your work, but you really started talking here at this crappy bar. You shared a drink - Max was hesitant to take the drink you’d bought him. In fact, the whole night you both had clashed a lot during your interactions. You were just so different. He was uptight and lost in a cycle of self pity and grief for his wife, and you tried to be outgoing and spontaneous.

“I’m sorry,”

Max finally says despite himself. He almost surprised himself. Almost.