Dietre took his coffee, feeling the heat seep through the cup into his hands. He took a tentative sip, but it was much too hot to really drink yet, so he just held it, not minding how his finger tips burned and prickled. Julius certainly seemed like a nice enough man, Dietre was considering himself quite fortunate for having been picked up. If he hadn't been, he'd be home by now, shivering by himself in that empty house, waiting for Francis to come home and possibly yell at him for what he did. There would be consequences for his little stunt, he knew it, if he thought about it too much he'd probably get sick. Luckily Julius provided a good distraction.
"'Calm?'" Dietre's lip curled in a bitter expression. "I am far from calm..." The young man's voice held quite a bit of contempt, for a moment, it had brimmed with self loathing. Dietre would never consider himself calm. He always felt nervous, confused, scared, angry...
"I don't know if anyone misjudges me. I'm not..." He tried to organize his thoughts. "There are reasons why people may dislike me, or be...disturbed..." He had a sense that there were whispers about his possible involvement with his parents' death. Some people seemed nervous around him. And, well, they were right to be. He had killed his parents.
"I don't know why I asked you that. I'm sorry." He was being strange. It wasn't good to be strange.