At Mao's words vague, uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Luke's stomach immediately flared into anger. Who the hell did he think he was? "The only asshole here is you... you... you... asshole!" Luke couldn't tell whether it was the alcohol or the anger that was making him so uncreative, but he seemed to take his redundancy in stride. Bearing down on Mao, he closed the space between them with a few quick steps, leering at him as he leaned his hand against the wall about Mao's head.
"I am not scared! I'm fucking pissed!" Luke's eyes burned, the guilt and shame that had been keeping him quiet and tongue tied suddenly replaced by a haze of irrational fury. "It's your fault, after all! It's your fucking fault I like you! Acting all pretty and dancing like... like you're fucking Michael Jackson or someone. God you're so obnoxious! Why the hell do I like you?!"