[ there's a difference to it all: strangers hating him for no reason? well, that he's used to — half the people he met back when he was alive had taken one look at the biracial guy with an earring and judged him as not enough, in the best case, or treated him as something lesser in the worst one. it had grown a little less common as an occurrence in his death, but still they'd come across clients who'd died well before charles with similar attitudes. but those people, well, the one thing he refuses to do is show them that he minds it; if he's friendly and polite and not offended, then it just shows they're the ones who are wrong. the biggest fuck you he can give them is to not waver in his own friendliness, at all.

but people who he's met before? who he's gotten along with before? who he likes, at least well enough, changing their opinion of him on a dime? that's a little too close to his very real memories of his death, and though he's usually very good at hiding his apprehension, some of it bleeds through into the way he visibly tenses up when junpei says probably, the way his eyes stare at nothing for a second or two before he shakes himself back to the present with a blink.

and then he smiles, because some reflexes are just too ingrained in him to beat. ]

Nah, it's fine. I'm sure it's fine, but thanks. I just — [ he shrugs, ] Well, wouldn't want you to get sick of me, would I?

[ his tone is very light and joking, but he absolutely means it. ]