( please don't tell him that. because he'll just end up making an even larger fool out of himself even if he's not flirting expressly. this is just … how he acts around her now, without quite realizing it, because he's gotten comfortable enough with her ( and the others ) to be his sort of goofy self that isn't as much of a front as it usually is. he's just goofy. end of story.

( there's a reason pidge called him a goofball. )

he follows her back into the kitchen and plops himself down into that second chair, ready to go to work regardless of what she ends up saying next; he gives a sort of flippant shrug of exactly one half of his shoulders, a lopsided thing that matches his smile as he picks up a potato and gets right down to business.

it isn't going to be a pretty thing, and he might end up nearly slicing the tip of his finger on the third pass of the paring knife. but at least he isn't about to bleed all over their dinner. because those would be bloodied potatoes, and those are so much worse than floor potatoes. ) Don't worry about it. Really. I don't have anything else to do, anyway. ( he hums, content, peeking over at her out of his peripheral vision. ) But I am kinda wondering about this place, though. Can you give me some deets?

( please, princess. please say you haven't heard this strange earth term and ask him what a deet is. )