Ben scoffed at her psuedo-apology. Not only was this, in his mind, the understatement of the century, but he had no faith that she was actually capable of working on it, as she put it. How hard was it to just speak up when it was something she'd known about for days? She said she'd been researching it at the library, and it wasn't as though there was a looming deadline on this decision (or if there was some sort of deadline attached to the potion, she hadn't divulged it). She could have included him in the conversation at any point, if she'd had any inkling to do so, and she clearly hadn't. She didn't want him involved; she just wanted to fix things her way.

"Yeah, alright," he mumbled. He didn't want to argue with her. What was the point, when she wasn't going to change? And besides, he was tired. He'd been tired when he walked in the door, to a certain extent, but now each passing minute just left him feeling more exhausted. Which was what he was in for the rest of his life, he supposed: feeling worn down constantly by even a superficial conversation.

"If you don't want to keep it, don't," he said coolly. Reaching out towards the vial, he pushed it to the edge of the table closest to her, still without looking at her. Then he shifted his weight in his chair so that he was more or less facing the wall and started to take his shoes off.