[ Suits him just fine. He waits for her to rise to her feet before moving, taking the stairs two at a time. ] Eggs and toast? Fewer things is probably less risk, and, uh, I'm not exactly a chef. Bananas are easy to check, anything in the pantry that isn't open yet - there's options.

[ For her, anyway. He'll stick to eggs and bread, maybe brave some peanut butter if it's still sealed, but his sights are set low. He assigns himself the task of pulling food from the fridge, on the off chance a heavy pan will register to her as a weapon. ]

Were you born in Atlanta? [ He asks, veering abruptly back toward their biographies. ]