[ his prayers have been answered for batter—! falco gradually begins wetting his lips as they pull wider in his smile, innocently cherished to be having the best part of any baking escapade. paul can have the other bowl, this one, he’ll have to be greedy with. with an entire spatula at the ready to scoop up a line of sweet (and probably unhealthy but who hasn’t done this—) batter, falco has flushed a slight tone of green around the cheeks. ]

—Me? I don’t think . . . [ he chuckles under his breath and ducks his head, meekly. he wasn’t the type to want any story about him, heroic or otherwise. ] I don’t think there’d be something about me. But I can imagine you— “The one who saves strangers, the stabber of the sea terror . . . ”

[ that spatula is going into his mouth, yes, so good. meanwhile, confetti has made it over to his human friend’s legs. all four of them. he has a little death grip on the cuff of paul’s pants, and seems insistent about being held. the way small infant things do, with the reaching and the doe eyes. ]

—He’s awake.