“I think the kiss sealed the deal,” he teases, visibly relieved as he crosses the threshold. Hotel rooms are technically sacred spaces, though nebulous gray areas — he can't remember if he needs permission or not. Better to stay on the safe side, rather than letting the barrier smack him in the face.

Notably, he doesn't take in the space beyond a cursory glance of where everything is. This is a man who isn't fazed by luxury; he might even be accustomed to it. (His own room back at the conference hotel is a lot smaller, on account of him preferring not to spend more if he can help it. He doesn't exactly compel himself into hotels unlike a certain older brother.)

Following her in, he kicks his shoes off and sits on the couch beside her.

“So this is where they've put you up,” he comments, pulling one leg up under him. “I think we've got room for an actual picnic.”