"I'll try not to starve between now and then," he teases.

Benedict notices the softness, like a sort of shift in the air. He's still not sure if he's misinterpreting the tension between them - is it awkward now, is it completely invented in his own head, or has he been reading it right all along?

It's not something to think about now. Not when his hangover is still yelling at him and he has a long cab trip home.

"Thank you. Again. For letting me stay the night and for that fantastic breakfast."