[francel seems to melt at zephirin's words, rolling slowly towards the table as if he himself is made of syrup. with his head in his arms and his cheek resting lightly against his wrist, the young lordling seems strangely mischeivous as he looks up and drinks in zephirin's praise, the details of zephirin's handsome face as he eats the pudding francel worked so diligently to make.

he feels, somehow, that this is a perfect moment. his expression is dreamy-happy, almost like the face he makes when zephirin rubs his ears.]

I'm so glad...

[it is a good thing that zephirin's poker face lends itself well to white lies. at length francel straightens himself, taking up a nearby spoon to dig into his own syrup-laden pudding with evident enjoyment. apparently francel has no issues whatsoever with the too-sweet syrup.]

I can make anything else you'd like, incidentally...

[he offers this shyly, between bites of pudding.]

Soups and stews or more hearty fare... I would be happy and honored if you could dine here with me more often.