Connie winces. She should've known better than to just barge into a stranger's trauma-induced anxiety attack and expect to make everything suddenly fantastic for him again. She wasn't Steven, what was she thinking? But still. Something in his eyes were... familiar. Like the utterly broken expression Pearl had worn that one sunset in the Sky Arena. "S-sorry," she stutters, stepping away. "If it helps, I just, just... sorry. I figured that I, um, might be able to help since, since I'm familiar with and this is all new and confusing to me too so I tried to help and... I'm going to stop talking now. I- Sorry."

She should've been better than this. Connie got over these problems months, if not years, ago. Why was she backsliding? Why couldn't she help him? She was trained to keep a cool head in these potentially dangerous situations, why couldn't Connie help, she was supposed to be good at this!