[This isn't as challenging as anticipated, the whole being a gentleman thing. Trevor doesn't totally feel like himself, but he's too used to 'himself' being a drunken mess. Borderline alcoholism (or perhaps not so borderline) has a way of disassociating everything from reality. He thinks he remembers who he is without it, but inching back to that is something of an arduous task.
Like hell is he going to admit that, though. Adrian knows him well enough to tell this from... Well, how Trevor normally is, and the fact that he commented on it--
Trevor's trying not to be irked. Because Adrian didn't mean it that way, he's sure; it just feels like he enjoys this Trevor better.
He doesn't get to comment on it one way or the other. Their food is delivered a moment later, and Trevor reluctantly releases Adrian's hands to make room for the plates. Small portions, artistic presentation; some things are a constant with places like this, he supposes.]
I think I prefer your cooking. [Trevor says when their server is out of earshot again, tentatively poking around the plate with his fork. Where is the rest of it? Honestly.]
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Like hell is he going to admit that, though. Adrian knows him well enough to tell this from... Well, how Trevor normally is, and the fact that he commented on it--
Trevor's trying not to be irked. Because Adrian didn't mean it that way, he's sure; it just feels like he enjoys this Trevor better.
He doesn't get to comment on it one way or the other. Their food is delivered a moment later, and Trevor reluctantly releases Adrian's hands to make room for the plates. Small portions, artistic presentation; some things are a constant with places like this, he supposes.]
I think I prefer your cooking. [Trevor says when their server is out of earshot again, tentatively poking around the plate with his fork. Where is the rest of it? Honestly.]