[ Claude works in physical therapy, so it stands to reason he might not see physical proximity as a big deal. Dimitri shouldn't think it anything to be awkward about either, but he feels wound up tense underneath Claude's chin. He barely turns his head towards him as he speaks. ]

To be fair, you jumped into the trash first.

[ Nailed it.


Wait, no, he's an idiot. ]

But—you're right, actually. [ He should be grateful. When Claude lists it all out, he's been a perfect host and friend—he even served them tea, which they've barely touched. There's a beat, and then he's abruptly scrambling off the couch, whipping away from Claude and Claude's too-close face to get back to the shower and his banished pile of clothes.

He's not gone long, though. When he comes back, he sits right beside Claude on the couch. Escape was apparently not his motive. Rather, he's pushing two things right into his palms: a keychain, and a folding pocketknife with a sizeable blade. With total earnestness: ]

Sorry, I don't have much on me today, but... I'd like you to have these.