[Embarrassing to be caught red-handed like that, but he doesn't say anything as Aziraphale begins to ladle soup into a bowl. And kindly, Aziraphale doesn't say anything either. There's no space for a table in the room, he usually just sits on the bed anyway if he wants to eat. There's a desk and chair, but he doesn't fit comfortably there and it's usually covered in paints or books or whatever else he or Mary has brought in recently. So he goes ahead and plops himself down cross-legged on one of the two side-by-side mattresses he uses to sleep on.
And as Aziraphale makes his way over, Rosinante reaches for the bowl, but then balks at the bread and shakes his head as he takes the soup with both hands.]
I'll pass on the bread. Not my thing. Thank you, though.
[Having seemingly forgotten that the soup was just practically simmering in its container, Rosinante immediately sticks a spoonful in his mouth, then winces hard as he drops the spoon on the floor in surprise and half-spits, half-swallows its contents over the bowl. Fuck, he always does this but he's too busy fanning his tongue with his abruptly free hand now to be mad.]
no subject
And as Aziraphale makes his way over, Rosinante reaches for the bowl, but then balks at the bread and shakes his head as he takes the soup with both hands.]
I'll pass on the bread. Not my thing. Thank you, though.
[Having seemingly forgotten that the soup was just practically simmering in its container, Rosinante immediately sticks a spoonful in his mouth, then winces hard as he drops the spoon on the floor in surprise and half-spits, half-swallows its contents over the bowl. Fuck, he always does this but he's too busy fanning his tongue with his abruptly free hand now to be mad.]
Hot.