"Don't worry," he clarifies, the door cracked behind him to let him hear when the kettle whistles for his return: "I wasn't really trying." Not that Jake wasn't another example of the odd trend the place had, attractive people crawling out of the foubtain like a romantic comedy version of The Ring. Not for the first time, Kira wonders if it's in the fucking criteria.

It's the kind of thought that marries itself to the general plummeting feeling he got in his stomach, at the idea of anything beyond empty flirting.

He kicks his heels against the side of the stoop and ignores it now. "Fair enough. How long have you been here then? How long have you been taken," he asks, the mischief returning only half-force behind it.