The word "bro" sends a jolt through him-- it's like he was struck with a hammer, and the dam holding back whatever darkness that is just behind the wall in his mind buckles, and his physical reaction is a fullbody cringe, a hand going to clutch at his head, his eyes staring pointedly down into the dirt at his feet.

Not at the people around them, slowly dying.

Not at her.

But when she speaks up again... when her voice rises in a question, just the sound of it making his chest clench, he chokes out a breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, uh..." He swallows hard, glancing up only briefly before his gaze drops solidly back to the ground. "A long... time ago. But it wasn't my fault, turns out, so I don't know why I keep..."

He breaks off, because he doesn't want to tell anyone that he still feels terrible about what happened. That he still dreams about it sometimes, like he's doing now. That it's still hard for him to cook for others these days.