Truth was, he didn't like you. At all. He didn't like your laugh―it was too loud, he didn't like your smile―it made you look stupid, he didn't like your voice―it was too high pitched―and he definitely didn't like your face―too average and bland. Which brought him to this current moment of regret. Standing in front of you, facing all of the things he despises in one go. So maybe he shouldn't have pity-dated you hoping you'd turn out better once he got to know you. It was stupid, he realized. Stupid and half-baked. And now that left him with you bitching about his inattentiveness, his cold shoulder―he was like that to everyone he didn't care about―and his unreliability to pitch for meet-ups, dates and such. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Listen, I'm just going say this now. I. Don't. Care. About you. About your feelings. About this relationship. It never really existed. It was just a pity-date and you just turned out to be a stage five clinger," he said dryly, eyeing you in distaste.