[In every single way, Keith is aware that he walked into this situation when he had every opportunity to shut it down. The realization of this washes over his face, making him pale as he swallows down a bite of his baked good. He savors the taste because he doesn't know what else to say, leaning back a little as he tries to find the right words.]
No. [Is that the right word? Probably not.] I mean. It doesn't really matter. [A beat. Awkwardly.] Does it? [Another beat. Slow and staccato.] It doesn't to me.
no subject
No. [Is that the right word? Probably not.] I mean. It doesn't really matter. [A beat. Awkwardly.] Does it? [Another beat. Slow and staccato.] It doesn't to me.
[Smooth.]