[Trevor's own order -- wagyu filet, rare -- is laughably predictable but notably without alcohol to accompany it. He does have some sense. Sometimes. Currently, it's being employed under the knowledge that he needs to have a somewhat clear head moving forward, and the awareness that he's nearly polished off half their champagne bottle as-is. He's not going to lead this conversation as a drunken mess.

The server is off again, and Trevor takes a moment to come back to himself -- to remember what they were talking about. Right, opera. And Adrian liking to go out with him, which almost sets Trevor to short-circuiting again. It's infuriating, how often Adrian does that to him; arrests thought, flatters him to thoughtlessness. And there's that notion again, that Trevor's become his thrall.

But perhaps real love is just as sinister.]

I have something of an ulterior motive for bringing you out tonight. It might be better to get that out of the way first.

[If the finer details of it weren't digging their claws deep into his mind...]