Alistair heaves a sigh. His fingers loosen on the blanket.

"You're like -- Maker, I don't know. A slightly obnoxious older sibling who means well. Not obnoxious enough to punch," he adds, pointedly. "If you want to make a joke, make a joke, if you want to be kind, or happy, just be kind or happy, don't do it because you think it's what I want. Ask what I want. Ask what I'm thinking, I -- you keep acting like you know what I'm thinking. You said you were you, and I don't -- "

He's losing the thread. What he's saying is already no help at all; best if he shuts up before this turns into even more mad rambling.