He sticks his foot in the door without even thinking about it. Perhaps the sensible thing would have just been to let her go but reflex stops him; reflex and anger.

'Who the 'ells tryin' t'put you on a pedestal? I'm not tryin' to make you be anythin', I'm tryin' to understand why you jus'. Won't. Stop. Fightin' me!'

The banter at work he can take, he thrives on it. But the blatant insubordination, the in-the-face insults, the way she tells him she wants him to be there and then shoves him away again, the flirting and then the rejection...he doesn't know whether he's coming or going and it's getting to the point where he's sick of it.

She's talked about hallucinations before, many times. So much bollocks she comes out with. He's drunk and furious and does the first thing that springs to mind, something she did a long time ago. He reaches forwards and grabs one of those fists, pulls it hard over his heart.

'Beatin', remember?'

He doesn't know whether he's trying to tell her he's real or just trying to prove he has a heart, one that she stamps all over nearly every time she opens her mouth, these days.