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[Not at all, and her surprise is clear on her face. She'd have thought . . . oh, twenty-five, perhaps. Older than so-called normal people, but still, ages ago. He's so comfortable in his skin, she never would have thought . . .

But she ought to know better. She of all people ought to know better, because they're so alike in this way. It isn't that he's so comfortable in his skin; it's that he's so good at appearing comfortable. Relaxed and at ease and perfectly flippant all the time . . . she takes half a step forward, just for the comfort of having him in proximity.]

No. Not at all.

[A beat. She offers a slight smile, tired and companionable.]

That's the trick, is it? Faking it until it becomes real?

Ah, close. Faking it until you comes to terms with the fact that the only opinion that matters is yours, regarding matters of the heart.

[He takes a full step, turning to put his arm around her shoulders as he gestures towards where they store their liquor. It's such a grand gesture for their small space, and he does feel quite silly, but his grin remains none-the-less.]

And until then, you get piss drunk with the best housemate you could possibly have. Then you'll compliment him on his dinner, even if it's actually as burnt as ever... and I'll eventually give up and order us something. How does that sound?

[It's a ridiculous gesture, but it works as intended: Rosalind huffs a laugh, resting her weight lightly against him.]

Let's worry about dinner before drinking, hm? Only I'd hate to burn down the house. Unless you'd rather skip the middle step and simply order now, so we can give up pretense and start our evening early.

Are you truly so opposed to seeing it all play out? I'd hate to see all my ingredients go to waste... by not going to waste. A burnt waste is better than one left to sit, or... something.

[Is it, really? Judging by all his last attempts, he's not really going to learn anything from it. So he concedes with a huff:]

I'll cook, you can order, we'll have food left over if it goes well.

Pasta, then.

[Ros isn't that like the third time in two weeks you've had pasta, maybe try something else??? No? Okay.]

What on earth did you buy, anyway? I want to know how high your hopes are for this endeavor.

[She seems in a far better mood now, and smiles as she takes a step forward, heading for the kitchen. Truth be told, her heart is singing-- because it seems miraculous, really, that they're on the other side of this with no repercussions. That somehow, impossibly, she's told him a secret only one other has ever been privy too, and that there's been no consequences.]

Be honest instead of trying to brag and I'll tell you more about some of my amorous adventures.

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