Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. He's crying. Actually crying. I resist the urge to smirk; meanwhile my internal monologue fills with cackling and thoughts of vengeance. 

     I grab the leftover napkin from the drinks and offer it to him. Time to poke the beast with a stick.

     "Tissue?" I say innocently, my eyebrows raised and a bland smile on my face. 

     He whips around and positively snarls. Success! Now, retreat quickly before the beast retaliates.

     "I don't need your help, God." He bites out, swiping at his eyes. I raise my hands in mock surrender.

     "Whatever you say, goes." I pointedly drop the tissue into his lap anyway. He crumples it in his fist.

     "Bitch," he mutters.

     "Asshole," I retort nonchalantly; it's only fair. An eye for an eye, anyone?