It's really loud; too much for L's sensitive ears on a normal good day, and even moreso when he's just slightly hungover. The french toast remains on the stove, where it continues to char happily, and L is going at the fire alarm with a screwdriver.

When he sees Cesar appear with the chair, he on top of it in seconds after shoving it against the wall, where he jams the flat end of the tool under the alarm and pries it off with a reckless cracking noise. The plastic splinters when it comes down on the kitchen's tile, and he steps down, carefully avoiding the sharp bits as he makes his way back toward the stove and flips the third piece of utterly wrecked french toast.

"I'm making breakfast," he explains unnecessarily. Then, thinking back to his prepared way of addressing the previous night, he adds, "I really liked the movie last night. Thanks for having me come all..."

Fuck you, Freud, fuck you and your cigars and your mother

"Over, thanks for having me come over."

As smoothly as he can muster, he reaches for that two fingers of rum and downs it.