For the record, Kevin had only sighed and dipped his head, brushed his hair up and kept his palm on his nape as he stared at his suddenly crimson legs after having listened to Jean-Paul and his what he thought was an argument of a child. The boy was stubborn, obviously -- and if he wanted to spare himself with Erik's wrath, Kevin knew it was best to keep his mouth shut. He pressed his lips tightly together until they were almost a line and he shut his eyes firm as Jean-Paul went about with his words. Mundane colors have transformed into the hues of red, orange, and indigo and that was usually not a very good sign.
A few seconds later, eyes opened and his vision was back to how it used to be. When there was some silence, Kevin pushed his seat back and took his abandoned cocoa (it's cooled down but well, it was too precious to waste) by his right hand, as well as his manila envelope and the newspaper he was reading by his left. "Well, there is going to be no good coming out of listening to you. Kenuichio, Remy," the difficulty with which he spoke the first name was very distinct and the way his voice sort of differed when he called his 'senior' told of his slight uncertainty, "let's get the hell out of here."
Kevin slipped out of the space between his chair and the table and without even trying to glance at Jean-Paul, started out of the kitchen with low, rhythmical steps. The living room's fireplace should suffice for the warmth he'll miss in the kitchen.