[How is Achilles not spilling bits of scrambled egg all over the table? It's so impossible to eat with a fork. Nevertheless, Cain lets him reach over the pan - he did cook it. And Cain could never eat the majority of what was made. He'll likely push the dish toward the other man once he's had his fill. Let Achilles feast.

Strangely earnest for someone who fucked and chucked him. Cain glances up, eyes narrowed with thinly veiled suspicion.]

It's not my appetite, asshole.

[Yet the words don't wear the same bite as earlier, tone softened from that sharp, harsh edge.]

Why are you sticking around, anyway? You left fuckin' quick last night. [Ouch. That's not all contributing to his mood, but it certainly doesn't help...] Feeling guilty now? I don't actually care about what happened, okay? I was high on drugs.