At the question, Attila only made a small, curt sound of disgust around gritted teeth, dashed with his own blood. He's quiet. The man's quiet and the darkness seeping into the man's gaze genuinely has Attila's hair standing on edge. He is like Hun, isn't he? He shouldn't cross this man. He's playing with fire, isn't he? Why weren't any of Attila's threats not working?! He froze at the hands reaching out, confused, instinct preparing to take over, catch him by the wrists, overpower him, bowl him over, break his spine, anything—but all he did was simply watch, baffled and shocked as to why a perfect stranger, much less one he'd threatened, would approach him so fearlessly.

He... adjusted his hat.

That's all.

He could've harmed him and it'd be justified, after all of Attila's threats and his insistently unrepentant behaviour, but... he just fixed his hat. It was almost ridiculous, but he felt the steadily mounting fear break into relief.

He flashed a bloody little grin, turned his head aside over his shoulder and spat blood to the side, on the ground.

"... you're a troublesome guy. Like—"
The pain in his mouth reminded him not to betray.
"... someone I knew. I can't answer your question. Not right now. It's the only way I know to live. I don't know. I'm half-sayin' this because you scare the hell outta me and I don't want you to go after me—"
Thanks, stupid curse or whatever that's making him talk like this.
"... but it ain't a lie. I don't really wanna make any trouble for the locals. They're good people. I don't wanna hurt anyone for no reason. If I make a different kinda life here, what am I gonna do if I have to go back home? Just go back, knowin' I could'a done things different? Or what if the ones I answer to come here? What's the point in any'a that? I'm in way too deep, I'm not like the bottom-rung guys who can come and go. I don't... know what to do."

Attila needed directions. Attila was a follower by nature, all the bravado aside, he needed someone to guide him. Back home, Hun was that person.