[ He grits his teeth and clenches his fists and pulls up a little bit, all in frustration, before slowly, slowly, relaxing out again. At least, as much as he's able to do so right now. ] It just wasn't one that you liked. [ ...ohhh. Wow he doesn't usually regret things that fast, and he tries to pull himself all the way up if she lets him do it, just because for some reason it feels like a thing to do. Either way, he comes back to where he was, and doesn't really have the arm strength to do it properly at this point anyhow - he's been tense and they've been above his head for too long. ] I didn't get it from the people I wanted it from. [ And he says that and then immediately knows her most likely next question. ] Not from them. Not enough. [ And that's something else too, that bothers him when he thinks back and does remember normalcy and his mother showing him things and his father asking about school - did he just want more attention than they were even capable of giving? Maybe it was his fault, he needed too much, he was the reason that they became the way that they did, formal and distant and buried in machines and art and whiskey and gin. He saw them occasionally in the papers after he'd started boarding school. They seemed happier - and you couldn't trust the faces people made for the papers, but what if those were thinner masks? What if?

Anyway. ] Next question please.