Technically, Ber supposed, he had asked for an answer with little to know guarantee that he’d like what he received, so he couldn’t be irritated entirely at Sliva for continuing to talk despite his intention of ending the conversation. Part of it was his fault too. But that didn’t mean he had to care about what reasons she gave him, particularly when they were so personal - and decidedly neither his business nor his problem.

With the events of the ball and the subsequent weeks taking precedent in his mind, Ber needed a few moments to remember what training with Woodwick she had referenced, and when he did, something like disbelief flickered through him. “You need me,” He repeated, close but not quite scoffing. “Sliva, you don’t even know me.” With a wave of his hand, he gestured at her. “Whatever you need to work on, that’s your problem, and if you need someone to hit you, go find someone else.”

Ber shook his head as he said that, still unable to understand how getting punched in the face would result in anything other than more problems.