"Wooow." Seven words and one of them was a surprise. An offensive surprise. "No," she replied. She wouldn't pardon him. She wasn't some sloppy white girl at a house party. "I've never acted that way toward you. Because I thought-" that he'd reject her because of his bro-ish standards of women. Albeit, his were a little more specific than one's average bro. And also he made her punchy most of the time. Like when he called her 'Pryde' and 'egghead' and 'dorkwad' and so on. "I was wrong, about what I thought. It doesn't matter. I didn't plan any of that. And I blamed how I behaved and how I felt in that moment on your mystical ties, and that was unfair. You..." she took a deep breath and then let it out, cooling down in the process, "were being good." Not 'well behaved' but good in the light and dark sense. He was, after all, good.
"I just wanted to not think and do something that felt good." Ice cream on a diet. Netflix during a lecture. Jimmy at a wedding. Guilty pleasures. "I get it. But would you rather be the sober guy that wasn't nice?" That was the third option, which would've gotten him bo-staffed the next day. Kitty smiled at that thought - not about beating him, but that he'd been kind and not 'that guy'. "In my defense..." her eyes darted around for a second before she forced herself to look Warpath in the face. "Since the whole... space-time mystic thing, I get a little claws-and-fangs around you. Lightheaded. That's what happened up there," she pointed to the floor above them. "We were dancing close, and not training or fighting and... I didn't have anything to distract me from the fact that you smelled really good and your shoulders are-" Noooope. "I don't know what you want me to say." And she'd said a frickin' lot. Smack? Wait...