All of the sentences that crowd his mouth seem wrong. Apology, slight, mock. They'd all fall flat. Even the failed attempt at a smirk mostly grim would be lost on that blackness.

No breath out. Only the clench of his jaw and his eyes, before, the willing himself to something sensible and promising at once, "I'll be back soon."

It's from across the room, nearing the doorway and not coming back closer, so he won't stay. He won't be close enough to hear. He turned and walked out.