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[thefirstemperor]

[Absolute silence. Fou-Lu does not know what an inbox is.]

Comments

[worthallthis]

"A little, but it just kinda. Enhances the sweet, in my opinion." B hitches a shoulder, half-smiles, not oblivious to Fou-Lu's awkward. Poor guy. B's had nine-slash-four years to get better at talking, and he's not even that great at it still. Fou-Lu hasn't even had that, though, has he?

So he gives him an out-- or, a partial out. He gestures to the bedframe piled high with pillows and blankets, made into a couch. "C'mon, siddown. I'll put on some music and you can drink your cocoa."

[thefirstemperor]

Like the cocoa, he takes this sort of mortal production in the spirit it's offered more than for its own sake. He sits just as stiffly here, as if he's made of ice and stone himself. He can, in fact, relax, in the right company and with a bit of prompting, but it's simply not an impulse with him. He has to be gentled into it. "My thanks."

[worthallthis]

B puts on some quieter jazz, and finds himself a seat on the armchair with his own cocoa. "Don't mention it. It's what friends do." Maybe Fou-Lu doesn't necessarily consider him a friend, but he does. And that's good enough for him.