Kavinsky shrugs at the thank you, because he has nothing sarcastic to say back at it and he doesn't trust the rest of what wants to come out of his mouth. It'll sound too much like he's hurt, and he doesn't want that.

"Well, that's up to you, isn't it," he says anyway, fingers wringing at the steering wheel. "You're the apparent judge of that, it seems. So just let me know when you think I've appropriately cared about anything at all."