Felt a bit like rejection. Fair, but rejection all the same. He had let himself get distracted by legs and ink and making lace. There was breakfast to be made and Mamen's day to be had. "Fine...fine." He acquiesced as he pulled himself from the bed and stood up. Pocketing the watch in one of the pockets of his loose fitting sweats that he had just pulled on, he trudged out into the kitchen. Butter substitute, eggs that he was sure was either harvested in a synthetic fashion or were synthetic altogether, and some heavily seeded toast. That was his idea of getting the day started. Clicking the carafe into the coffee pot, the brew began just as the stove turned on and the air filters kicked to green.