[ He hates this. He was a lot more vulnerable last night with the whole nearly dying adrenaline rush thing, now he's slept and some of his walls were put back up in the night. Or well, attempted to at least. It's suddenly seemingly a lot harder to do.

So he rolls his shoulders, ignoring the nervous pinch in between them at the thought of Hank just knowing him far too well and. Clears his throat.

And side steps his statement. ]

I know how to cook. My grandma didn't raise an ungrateful heathen. [ He says, face still delightfully flushed. ] Your coffee maker just started on its own, by the way.