He braces both arms on either side of the stove, flexes and relaxes his shoulders, and then sighs long and hard.

"that's not the point," he says with resignation in his voice. "The point is that it's my fault. That in true Mikey fashion I've gone and screwed everything all up." The nickname comes laden with rancor and spite.

He sighs again as he releases the stove, and then then turns towards his cousin. All that negative emotion is gone from his expression, repressed back to where it belongs: out of sight.

"Here, lemme look at your hand."