The amount of willpower it took for Cristobal not to roll his eyes at her supposedly "not crying" was quite astounding.
But the amount of willpower it took not to facepalm at her next words was far too demanding, so the deliveryman just let himself do just that. The words, they were so astounding that he had no idea how to react to them. So many things were going through his head, like yes, why had he done all those things, like getting beaten up for her? Maybe he actually had values, hell, maybe he'd learned the meaning of the word care that night and had decided to apply it in practice. Even he didn't know: doing such things for someone else had never crossed his mind, so him actually doing those things was quite surprising, even to himself.
"Okay, fine, you're not a freaking stalker, all right?" Now hopefully that would have Kyrie stop the whole self-moaning just long enough for him to try to find a suitable synonym. "What I meant was that you're overwhelming," he continued after, trying to put emphasis on what mattered and what he wanted her to hear. "Listen, no one's paid attention to me, okay? And then you show up in my life and you make a scene out of some stupid kid plucking a feather from me. What, you think it never happened?" If he got a single cent out of how many times someone had plucked a feather from him, mark his words that he would've been rich by now. "But you went out of your way to be so freaking... freaking sorry about it." There wasn't even a word that he could think of to explain how she'd seemed to him, and now certainly wasn't the right time to look in the dictionary. "And then you offered your dressing room to me, you offered food, you offered even drinks. Who the hell does that?" With the last part being a legit question: who really did do that? "And then you wanted to drive me home? And then now you're still going. You're... You're just smothering me. Is that better than stalker? I can't get into any more details than this!" There really wasn't any other way for him to explain how stressed out he felt towards her actions. It was going from literally nothing to way too saturated in one go, and he just couldn't handle that.
"I don't... I can't have any relationships, okay?" he eventually added, something akin to anxiety slipping through his angry and judgemental tone. "Have you been keeping track of how many times I've made you cry already? Okay, you think I'm fit to be your buddy or whatever else you want us to be?" Just imagine how sick she would get of him after a while. He was nasty. He was unpleasant. He was bitter. He wasn't anything nice to hang around with. Maybe with a bottle of alcohol thrown into the mix, but even then it took a lot of it to finally call him tolerable. "So why do you even care? I'm an ass, so why are you even taking my words seriously?" Which was, again, a very legit question to ask. Why care for someone who obviously didn't?
"And why I did all those things? I don't even know. Maybe subconsciously I did the whole caring thing too, I don't even know." When he sometimes thought back to that night, he did wonder why people couldn't be... more that way. Not so much judgemental jerks who thought they could lead and ruin his life however they wanted without his say on the matter. Why people couldn't care like Kyrie had, even if just for one single night. Oh, he had wondered, and maybe he'd felt like he somehow owed it to her to do something nice in return. "I have a conscience or whatever the hell you want to call it," he eventually continued, though the answer wasn't even that certain despite the short pause to think about it. "Just tell yourself whatever. I did it, that's that, it wasn't because I hate you, because if I did, trust me when I say I woud've spread that story instead of halting it. Trust me." Cristobal was certainly capable of pulling nasty stuff if he hated someone, and let's just say that it happened a lot, especially recently.
"Okay, was that everything? I can't even keep track of everything we're talking about anymore," he admitted, holding his head a little from the headache that was starting to creep up on him. "You're not a source of pain, or... whatever you called yourself." Holding a very deep and extensive conversation also wasn't something Cristobal was very good at. Lack of practice and a very deep lack of acquaintances to pull it off with.
But the amount of willpower it took not to facepalm at her next words was far too demanding, so the deliveryman just let himself do just that. The words, they were so astounding that he had no idea how to react to them. So many things were going through his head, like yes, why had he done all those things, like getting beaten up for her? Maybe he actually had values, hell, maybe he'd learned the meaning of the word care that night and had decided to apply it in practice. Even he didn't know: doing such things for someone else had never crossed his mind, so him actually doing those things was quite surprising, even to himself.
"Okay, fine, you're not a freaking stalker, all right?" Now hopefully that would have Kyrie stop the whole self-moaning just long enough for him to try to find a suitable synonym. "What I meant was that you're overwhelming," he continued after, trying to put emphasis on what mattered and what he wanted her to hear. "Listen, no one's paid attention to me, okay? And then you show up in my life and you make a scene out of some stupid kid plucking a feather from me. What, you think it never happened?" If he got a single cent out of how many times someone had plucked a feather from him, mark his words that he would've been rich by now. "But you went out of your way to be so freaking... freaking sorry about it." There wasn't even a word that he could think of to explain how she'd seemed to him, and now certainly wasn't the right time to look in the dictionary. "And then you offered your dressing room to me, you offered food, you offered even drinks. Who the hell does that?" With the last part being a legit question: who really did do that? "And then you wanted to drive me home? And then now you're still going. You're... You're just smothering me. Is that better than stalker? I can't get into any more details than this!" There really wasn't any other way for him to explain how stressed out he felt towards her actions. It was going from literally nothing to way too saturated in one go, and he just couldn't handle that.
"I don't... I can't have any relationships, okay?" he eventually added, something akin to anxiety slipping through his angry and judgemental tone. "Have you been keeping track of how many times I've made you cry already? Okay, you think I'm fit to be your buddy or whatever else you want us to be?" Just imagine how sick she would get of him after a while. He was nasty. He was unpleasant. He was bitter. He wasn't anything nice to hang around with. Maybe with a bottle of alcohol thrown into the mix, but even then it took a lot of it to finally call him tolerable. "So why do you even care? I'm an ass, so why are you even taking my words seriously?" Which was, again, a very legit question to ask. Why care for someone who obviously didn't?
"And why I did all those things? I don't even know. Maybe subconsciously I did the whole caring thing too, I don't even know." When he sometimes thought back to that night, he did wonder why people couldn't be... more that way. Not so much judgemental jerks who thought they could lead and ruin his life however they wanted without his say on the matter. Why people couldn't care like Kyrie had, even if just for one single night. Oh, he had wondered, and maybe he'd felt like he somehow owed it to her to do something nice in return. "I have a conscience or whatever the hell you want to call it," he eventually continued, though the answer wasn't even that certain despite the short pause to think about it. "Just tell yourself whatever. I did it, that's that, it wasn't because I hate you, because if I did, trust me when I say I woud've spread that story instead of halting it. Trust me." Cristobal was certainly capable of pulling nasty stuff if he hated someone, and let's just say that it happened a lot, especially recently.
"Okay, was that everything? I can't even keep track of everything we're talking about anymore," he admitted, holding his head a little from the headache that was starting to creep up on him. "You're not a source of pain, or... whatever you called yourself." Holding a very deep and extensive conversation also wasn't something Cristobal was very good at. Lack of practice and a very deep lack of acquaintances to pull it off with.