The words make him feel a little ill. Gleb can't fault her for being upset for having lost someone she cares about, of course, even if he never saw any qualities in Dmitry for that to be earned, can't tell what might have been left for her to miss. Neither can he shake his discomfort, though, or the sense that he shouldn't be here for this, shouldn't have to. He didn't come to her apartment today to watch her grieve for a man who never seemed to treat her as a person, who certainly never let her make her own decisions, and who belatedly tried to win her affections even when she'd made another choice. The more she says, the worse the feeling gets, until they may as well be back where they started, with Anya at his door, telling him that Dmitry professed his love to her. That she didn't know if anything would ever have happened between them if Dmitry had been there sooner, making him effectively a replacement again.

"If that were truly the case," he says slowly, "if your anger could have managed that, then wishing he weren't gone would also mean wishing you'd chosen him." He doesn't outright ask if that's the case, but the air feels charged and heavy and tense, and the question may as well be hanging between them. He wants, more than anything, to turn and leave, to come back when this isn't so present. That he doesn't feels like a testament to how much she's weakened his heart, that he would stay here shouldering her grief when to do so is agonizing for him.

"And that you'd ignored the reasons he gave you to be angry."