Chris scowled a bit, surprised by the blatant disproval of his attempts at being a fucking good guy. He took a long drag on his cigarette, a smile starting to form, but it wasn't one of amusement. It was a bit disconcerting, probably, to look at. His hand twitched and he flicked some ash into a tray by his side on the end table.
"Yeah, well, it's been my fucking experience that whatever I do is going to be taken with a big fucking grain of salt, alright, so I'm doing what I can in big fucking gestures. Throw the entire fucking salt shaker at me, I'm doing this shit for us," He didn't sound all together impressed at being doubted all this time, but he felt justified in feeling a bit pissed, "Anyway. Whatever," He smiled more, "Don't worry about it. The honeymoon always ends, doesn't it, Beeche, and then you're just left with me." He shifted in the chair again, seeming uneasy, restless. Right, so Toby thought he was being too nice. Great. There was just no fucking middle ground, was there, Chris mused as he sucked on his cigarette.