He gave a child like scowl, like a little boy whose mother was cleaning his face with a bit of spit on a napkin.
"I 'ready said," he mumbled, "...Where you gonna be?" It was part of what bothered him. Not quite the deeper issue of when will I see you, or I'll miss you, but he didn't know how to verbalize those.
He made a face at the forehead tap, twisting his head away, "You wouldn'," he said confidently.