He laughed heartily at her display, relating too well to it, and clasped his hand over his mouth to avoid getting too loud. "Oh man, it's awful, isn't it? Like, we should be totally afraid of this shit. Now they have dedicated clubs, a subcategory of government, and even a fucking dating app dedicated to finding a human snack." Quinn took a bite of food and squirrelled it into the side of his mouth to talk quickly, his hand covering his mouth, lest Rachel see his mashed food. "I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, you know? But it's weird to me that there are still people in this city that don't know what's going on.
"Oh!" Quinn exclaimed, remembering what he was saying before. His fatigue was fading the more he ate and laughed. He finished his bite quickly and wiped his hands on a napkin. "That's right. So back to fucking Jerry: I made a habit of sleeping with him and I'd be over there, you know, several times a week. To me, if someone wants to see me that much, they'd be down with dating me, right?" He licked his top gums behind closed lips. "Nope. Not fucking Jerry. Which started out as no big deal, funny even. He like down-right refused to go out anywhere with me unless I fucked him first, and just refused to be any kind of social creature outside of his usual haunts. Like getting him to go on a fucking date with me was a nightmare. He was like stuffy and stupid the entire time, refusing to do anything but joke around. That happened like once or twice.
"So I gave up on that venture and just kinda settled with the fact that he wasn't there to date me, only sleep with me. But then he'd like be supportive if something was happening in my life, like more than a friend. Like, he helped me move a friend out of a bad situation, and he took care of me the night I got fired from the Pompeii - that's a long story, trust me. So like, there were good qualities there. Like he wasn't an asshole the entire time. But... just emotionally vacant, you know? Which makes me sad because I think I actually really like him." His accent slipped in and out of his words as he ran through them without any poise, his hands making appropriate gestures of frustration, ticking off the incidents, waving her concern off dismissively, clapping the back of one hand rapidly in his palm. He gave a frustrated sigh and skewered his french toast a bit too passionately.
"I approached him about it like a month ago finally and I was like 'why won't you date me? You don't mind fucking me. You haven't minded for the past like, two years..' And he was like 'you know I don't do that. You knew that going in.' " He paused looking at the look on Rachel's face. "Yeah. Two fucking years, Rache. Over his place like almost every other day for two fucking years." He held up two fingers to show his point - more for the catharsis than for Rachel's benefit.