Does he even know what he's apologizing for? Only partly, really, if he reduces it to that stupid little spat they had back then. For insinuating what he did, for stepping away, for not trying to contact him at all. For not checking, even though he was worried. Saying he was hurt, back then, wasn't possible, not with all that it implied, and for all that their friendship was unnatural then. There were many times in their time on Earth where the angel refused to recognize their obvious kinship - whenever he had to admit it, or whenever it pained him to look at it straight. But it still hurt when Crowley said he didn't need him. It still scared him when he thought the demon was risking his life. Still felt overwhelmingly lonely when dealings with Heaven had come up and he found himself with no one to talk to about it.

"For that day. In the park." Still quiet as he speaks. "I should have...checked. Talked to you. Done something." Of course he can say that now, but he couldn't have done it back then. He could have, but he couldn't have.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, long and heavy. Feels Crowley warm in his arms. " You know there could have never have been anyone else." This isn't about romance. This isn't about a romantic relationship, this isn't even about being friends. It's about the reality of their situation has it's always been. About isolated agents who find out they have more in common with their immediate opponents than their remote allies, regardless of how that develops.

"I found something to do. I enjoyed what I found. I've met many great personalities. I've...we've been experienced more than we were intended to." He closes his eyes, lets himself speak, before he gives himself the chance to stutter and stall. "That doesn't mean I forgot-..." And there's the stall. It's difficult, this. It probably shouldn't be. "There's never been anyone else who... understood. Couldn't be. How could there be?"