"Dinner," he says promptly. "But not... That is, I don't cook much, and he works the dinner shift, so as I understand it we'll just be taking it to go from there."
It won't be fancy, he means. No filet mignon, unless everyone on the Barge is somehow getting one.
"Hmmm. Okay, a little too fancy for a tank top. Either a nice form-fitting sweater, or a cuffed shirt one size too small. Assuming you wouldn't be comfortable in just a waistcoat."
Again, he looks down at himself, tries to imagine wearing a tank top to dinner. Maybe he has the wrong idea about what that is. Jedao probably doesn't mean he should go out in his undergarments, right? ...Or maybe he does.
"I think I can probably find a sweater that would suit," he mutters, because that feels easiest. "Can I ask-- does it really make sense to wear a size too small?"
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It depends.
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It won't be fancy, he means. No filet mignon, unless everyone on the Barge is somehow getting one.
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"Hmmm. Okay, a little too fancy for a tank top. Either a nice form-fitting sweater, or a cuffed shirt one size too small. Assuming you wouldn't be comfortable in just a waistcoat."
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"I think I can probably find a sweater that would suit," he mutters, because that feels easiest. "Can I ask-- does it really make sense to wear a size too small?"
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He touches Fraser's shoulder idly, gently, gloved palm and bare fingertips just skimming over the curve of it.
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He watches Jedao's hand from the moment it touches him till the moment it moves away again, a little like a rabbit watching a hawk.