[A wounded expression passes across his face, and he picks up his drink to buy himself time (or liquid courage) to figure out what to say. Instead, though, he doesn't drink, just finds himself swirling the deep red liquid as if it can somehow help circulate his thoughts.

Perhaps he should clear something up first.]

Don't misunderstand... I love you exactly as you are. [He says, eventually, looking up once more. It pulls at his heartstrings to think that she might assume otherwise. That she might think, again, that she's defective in some way.]

So, I'm not trying to make you into someone you're not. I just... want to give you things you didn't have.