Or maybe not. Feeling the weight of Eliot's attention - watching is infinitely easier than being watched - Jean obeys those simple orders, biddable like a good puppy. He feels particularly victorious when he finds fresh lemons.

After spending so long in the rain, the smell of the homely kitchen is like a blessing. Always easily swayed by sensorial stimuli, he takes off his wet overcoat and stretches his arms, thoroughly enjoying the warmth of the oven.

"Something similar?" he asks lazily, interested in Eliot's stories in general, but also trying to remove the focus of the conversation from himself.