Rogue felt as if she might never stop crying. Three months she'd been in this world, and while the first few days had been rocky, she'd mostly pushed it all aside and tried not to deal with the pressing guilt and grief that clawed at her dreams. She'd thrown herself into work and volunteering, pretending at being okay, but she wasn't. Not at all.

By the time Steve spoke, most of the sobs had subsided, though her breaths still shuddered through her chest and tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes at the beautiful, sweet kiss and hated herself for the answer she gave him: a small shake of her head. If they went up to watch the fireworks now, she would be miserable the entire time, and that in turn would affect him and ruin the experience. She'd rather they miss out on the fireworks all together than risk tarnishing all future such festivities for him. He deserved better than that.

Just standing there like that in the kitchen wasn't exactly the best option for them either, though. She wasn't feeling very stable, either physically or emotionally, after her outburst, so she asked in a shaking, cracked whisper, "C-can we s-sit, ple-ease?"