Xander turned and stood next to Milo, not quite looking at him. "Hey," he mumbled. His palms felt a little sweaty. He was not used to this kind of thing. How did one do it? He took a deep breath and plunged ahead, figuring saying the wrong thing might be better than saying nothing at all. Maybe. "I've, uh, got anger issues. Thought I'd gotten over them, but, um," he lifted one shoulder in a shrug, "it's not something... it doesn't work like that, being done and dusted after just a short time. So, I kind of... I've been going through something, and it got outa hand 'cause I'm not good at dealing. Doesn't excuse or anything, just saying. Probably not the last time I'll lose it, either, even trying. If you don't think you can deal with that, it's okay. You don't have to. I'm not really worth that kind of stress, which is kind of why I don't make friends. I can go to your place to make your granddad feel better, if you want, but if you don't want to, me, you know, it's okay. You don't have to see me anymore than you want to." He stopped talking abruptly, not sure how to wrap everything up. "Anyway. Yeah. So."
He started to turn away and then remembered the bag he held in his hand. Turning back, he thrust the bag in Milo's general direction. "Here. I was going to give this to you later, but, um, if you don't wanna... you don't have to keep it, but it's yours. Keep, toss, sell, give... whatever."