He hates the way she stares, teetering around him like he's an explosive, like he's dynamite that she's afraid of, but she puts on a fake face of false confidence.
"You're okay, Jamie?"
He hates her coddling voice, concerned eyes which are wide and rimmed with dark eyeliner.
"Dandy," he replies, darkly, stabbing at his plate. "Why?"
She gestures at his suffering plate, eyelashes smothered in mascara, which he also hates, thank you very much. "You've hardly ate."
He pastes a smile on. He hates all of it. "I'm not a big fan of rice, is all."
She blinks, lips cherry-red and plastic. "Oh."