The problem was, Robert had no idea if they'd told each other I love you a hundred thousand times before he'd even enlisted. He didn't know it was a big deal, a huge step, there was no way for him to know they had only gone on a date or two before he'd left and that their love had been cultivated through his absence. All he could do was feel a sort of emptiness, a sort of shock at her words, trying to combine those words, the feelings they conveyed, with a face that was beautiful, yes, but that he simply didn't know. He would have been (and probably would be, when she told him) horrified that he'd all but brushed it off, but it was simply too much to process right now, there was so much he didn't know about this life that was supposedly his that he really needed to take it one step at a time.

He paused when she started to gather the groceries - sure, his bag was heavy, but it was his fault her groceries were spilled all over the sidewalk. He moved to gather some of the tins that had rolled farther from the rest, handing them over a little awkwardly as she finished gathering up her purchases, the tears still running down her face. "Here - " he pushed the standard-issue handkerchief into her hand, feeling downright awful and not knowing how to apologize for it. "Please let me carry that." She could dry her eyes (or try) while they walked to his house, it was the absolute least he could do, and he still felt crummy for it. "I'm not in any hurry." Meaning that she could take her time pulling herself back together; though was he supposed to hold her? Touch her face, wipe those tears away himself? It was what a man should do for the woman he loved, but he felt like an impostor every time he imagined himself reaching out to touch her face. It was like she was someone else's girl, not his, she couldn't possibly be his. How the hell was he supposed to fit back into a life that he couldn't remember?