[ Feeling Cassidy turn, Rafa glances down. He smiles at that open hand, and lifts his eyes back up to study that smile. That smile could melt ice on the ocean, he thinks. The palm he's tracing now bears the signs of hard work; scars and callouses, all of which makes it unique. His fingertips slide over the edge of the wide wide scar.

It's not one he's used to. He doesn't know how this injury was done, except that it's not consistent with the use of a blade. It's something else. ]

Food is...complicated. I could eat it. [ If he had to. If humans were watching, and he was pretending to be one of them. Here, he may never need to do that. It's a very good incentive to stay honest. His smile quirks, lopsided and dimpling at one corner. ] I do not like it, and besides that, my body cannot use it. It cannot use liquids, either, but they mix with the blood, and it is not so bad.

But I do not get drunk, as you may. That is a pleasure sadly denied to me now. I remember how it felt, from long ago. I remember how the taste of vodka improved the more I drank. Those are feelings that I miss. I cannot complain about the rest.

[ His fingers slide over Cassidy's, and then he lifts his hand. Rafa kisses the edge of his knuckles, very lightly. ]

How did you get this scar? It's an old one. You must have had it for some time.