Dia's heart jumps at the enforced eye contact, lodging itself in her throat. It makes her voice come out weaker than she'd like -- odd and raspy.

"Quit it," she mutters, shifting uneasily against the sofa when there's no further back left to go. Her eyes wander as far as they're able, catching on an indistinct point on Mari's brow, the edge of her bangs, her collarbone.

"You're clearly just doing this to get a reaction, so cut it out. You're not a child."