[ It's not often he lets himself show his sharper side. And especially around those so important to him. The edge had appeared far more often when he was wielding honey-sweet words as a cover for those who sought to use him for their own ends. Their own entertainment. Their own stepladder to a height his existence would allow them to reach.

But for those he did care about? They didn't deserve his sharp edges, even if he sometimes couldn't control when or who he cut, when those edges were unsheathed. It's why he kept such a tight grip on his control. On his temper.

He rubs a hand over his face, instantly feeling guilty for losing his grasp even for a few moments. It always happens too easily when he's upset, when he feels his tightly-held control spiraling out of his grip. Those are the times it's slashed at Claude, as well. When something pressed too close to an old wound that should have long healed.

At her question, he's already shaking his head, his other hand giving hers a gentle squeeze. ]

Of course not, not if you need to talk about it. But you haven't seemed to want to broach that topic at all, which is why I haven't pushed. Do you want to talk about it?

[ He shoots the ball back in her corner again, because he's pretty certain her answer will still be 'no'. Or evasion. He had said they were far too much alike, after all.

Although he's not sure how this will prove her point when she seems to be presenting evidence that backs up his stance instead. ]