And so instead of thinking critically about why he might want to sing someome's praises, knowing he takes pleasure in getting a rise out of you, you decided I was the one at fault.

He stops again, both feet flat on the stairs, and audibly sighs, as he tilts his head back a fraction to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds. Before he turns and looks at Steven, and in the dim lights, made to flicker from EVA's surges of excitement, he looked tired and Wizened. One hand stands firm on the railing. I notice when you talk to me less, you know. Was there anything else, at all, that made you think I'm the one that's creating the distance here?