[there's a twitch, when she mentions Dirk. he looks away, hand rubbing the back of his neck, casual but not.]

...Nah. Rather talk about how you know how to make pasta, because I always make too fucking much when I try.

Come on, not even me?

[this would be more effective if not deadpan and his expression behind his glasses. but it's the closest you'll ever get to Dave jokingly pleading, with his hand on his heart.]

[if the lady wishes. he clears his throat and takes a step forward.]

Pretty please, Jade, let me learn the perfect portions of pasta.

[he can keep going.]

[she's laughing, and everything is fine, all the pleading and the careful alliteration is like how things used to be, it's all better for that one moment when she's laughing.]

Yeah, because it's easy and kinda hard to mess it up too bad. But whose hands? Mine, yours? The hands of an Italian chef that's gonna manifest in your kitchen and yell at me for speaking the truth that it all tastes the same?

That doesn't explain how I can fit a whole pizza in there.

[but he gets it. his handfuls. that's not gonna feel like enough pasta, but if it stops the pastapocalypse from happening every time he cooks it, then so be it.]

Nah, but I know I can.

[he's good! he just lacks basic vitamins because he is a sixteen year old boy who makes not great choices. this is why roommates save his life.]

Sometimes it just tastes so good and you think that keeping on is the right idea and no one is around to stop you from taking that cheesy goodness and plunking it directly into your facehole until you realize where you are and that suddenly there is no more.