[He flinches again, more noticeable with Gale's hand to his cheek. It can't be hidden now. A sour anger bites the back of his throat as he speaks, a hissing whisper.]
Don't you dare.
[He pauses, gathers himself, digs his nails into his palm so it hurts enough to ground him, breathes.]
We'll stay. Your mother's cooked such a fine meal for us. Don't let me keep you from it, dear.
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Don't you dare.
[He pauses, gathers himself, digs his nails into his palm so it hurts enough to ground him, breathes.]
We'll stay. Your mother's cooked such a fine meal for us. Don't let me keep you from it, dear.