[kavinsky doesn't say anything for a long moment, staying where he's sprawled. he watches her move some inscrutable pieces around, listens to her talk, her voice rather calm despite the content of them which is true even though her fingers and hands don't wobble, either.

and then he twitches his mouth into a thoughtful frown.] Sure, [he says.] Maybe. But I think maybe 'tired' doesn't exactly cover all that shit you talked about just now.

Did you tell me who 'Nick' was at some point? [he doesn't remember if she'd named names, when he had assumed her interested in some nebbish young bespectacled metro thing, long ago. in an act of herculean heroism, he starts to move himself off the couch. limb over limb. he's tired and sore, but fortunately, toxic masculinity is going to work in amanda's (dubious) favor this once; he stubbornly stumps off into the kitchen. in a couple of minutes, there's the clink of more glasses and bottles knocking into one another, tinny under the noise from the television. some mindless music video from kavinsky's era, pounding bass, bikinis.]

Did the shit with playing chess on his washboard nerd abs come up back in Eudio too?