[he stops when she says wait, and he briefly wonders what she's up to then.... ah, she hears him ask about his own past. She had spilled everything about herself, but he would rather not even think about his own past- he would rather just forget about it and pretend it never happened.

....No, he can't forget, he can never forget. Even as he thinks about that question, he turns to look at her, his expression dark and he seems serious. He's.... actually considering it, and that's the closest anyone's gotten. He reaches a hand up to his face, his fingers tracing over the tattoo above his eyepatch.]

You're walkin' on thin ice there, red. I'm the worst kind of person- and just asking that kind of question makes me a little anxious. And when I get anxious I prefer to cut people up.