Cold, slightly-salt-gritty fingers close around one of his, and Cesar blinks. It's like his mind is a clock where a big piece (alcohol-loosened) just slid into place, and there's no ambiguity this time. L grasping his finger. L climbing across him, with no regard to personal space or shame. L going for drinks with him, and the emails in Cesar's inbox.
It startles a silent laugh from him, genuine and buoyed by the satisfaction of solving a puzzle, along with the complete absurdity of his excuse. If Cesar had known he could answer all his questions by inviting them out for drinks, then maybe he'd get out more often. He turns to L.
{They need more salt and salsa before they'll taste like it.} His shoulders shake again; he's far more amused by the whole thing than he would be if he were sober. The TV cuts out the clarity of parts of the message when it switches to scenes in space, and he wiggles his his fingers, and then dips a chip in the salsa, holding it up as proof.
no subject
It startles a silent laugh from him, genuine and buoyed by the satisfaction of solving a puzzle, along with the complete absurdity of his excuse. If Cesar had known he could answer all his questions by inviting them out for drinks, then maybe he'd get out more often. He turns to L.
{They need more salt and salsa before they'll taste like it.} His shoulders shake again; he's far more amused by the whole thing than he would be if he were sober. The TV cuts out the clarity of parts of the message when it switches to scenes in space, and he wiggles his his fingers, and then dips a chip in the salsa, holding it up as proof.