[ See, that doesn't actually mollify him any. When something hurts, it hurts, and usually there's nothing you can do about it (if you're a first aid stunted fourteen year old who's been using magical fruit snacks to recover health bar points) except ignore it and keep going. But when something itches and you fucking scratch it, you're being tricked by your own body into picking at the floodgates and worsening things for yourself.

What is logic, stop judging him, he's bad at this being concerned thing.

Dave gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip slightly and finally, resignedly, admits: ]

'kay, guess I just gotta suck it up and admit that... this isn't anything I can do shit about. Run like the devil wants to ram a hot rod up my ass, yeah, that I can do, but deal with dandruff feathers? That's major league shit right there, and I've never been particularly good at not fumbling the ball while making for home base.

[ Maybe his wtfbbqdumb rambling can give her something else to focus on or something. He doesn't know. ]