It is not merely feeling it. How often have I said something, only to have Kate ignore me, not even dignifying my question with an attempted answer? How many times have I insisted upon my discomfort, only to bend because I realized it was a fruitless endeavor? I have felt unimportant my entire life amidst famed magicians here and noble huntsmen there, and I'll be damned if—

[He cuts off his little tirade, his expression falling as he notes Ignis' distraction; in that instant, he chides himself for being so foolish as to think he held the other man's attention for even a moment. He is speaking ill of Kate, to whom Ignis' devotion has no end. Why should he listen?

His fingers pick at the bandage on his arm as he turns away, busying himself with two mugs and his kettle.]

Nevermind. It will not matter much longer anyway, and I would rather her last memories of me not be us bickering.