[ Another new-familiar feeling: in the aftermath of anger, sickly creeping doubt. ]

...apology accepted.

[ He could mutter it a little more graciously - or avoid muttering altogether by raising his voice - but saying it at all is something. He hopes it is, anyway.

Still cautious, Jaune rises to his feet, backing away from the other man in the direction he flung the pie. He cuts a less than intimidating profile when he has to crouch to retrieve the now hopeless deconstructed mess on a plate from under the table, sighing heavily when he sees the state of it. Still - one new borrowed clean fork, and it's still salvageable. ]

And I don't help people based on how much I like them, either. I do it because that's what Jaune Arc does.

[ It's one of the only things he knows for sure about himself. He's clinging to it with both hands. ]