He shakes his head again, more a rocking motion against his knees than anything, and draws in another shuddering breath. And then another. And then one more.

"You... you don't want to hear how angry I am at Quentin," he finally rasps. "And I don't want to hear you defending him." The thought of it makes his stomach churn. He doesn't want to hear how perfect and wonderful Quentin is, and how he just needs to understand him, and that's all he can really imagine Jedao saying on the matter.