[ Red so isn't his colour. He doesn't know if she remembers that, or it's just something she's saying, or if she can tell with one quick, incisive look at him. It digs into his chest as pleasantly as her sharp chin digs into his head, bone on bone through only the thinnest of cushions.

He missed her. The revelation comes as a full body spark of surprise, not because it's true, but because - he just hadn't thought about it.

But now that she's here, he's thinking about it. How he didn't want her here, because it sucks, and he doesn't like it when she's not having fun. It makes him unaccountably restless, like a transient itch crawling under a rough fabric tag. It's not a great feeling. So why does he not mind it now, as she voices her justified discontent? ]

I have, actually?

[ He protests, shimmying to push up a fraction of an inch against her chin in a reproving nudge. ]

There's going to be a stupid trick to it. 'Freedom is hot'. We probably have to set the door on fire.

[ Obviously. ]