Matt laughs, half embarrassed, and he can hear the clink of Tim getting the plates from one of the shelves like he's perfectly at home. It's nice, it's--it allows Matt, for a moment, to think this is going to work.

He wants it to work. He wants to slide in bed and have Tim there at night, wants to curl up with a cup of bourbon or sit on the couch as they go through their assigned paperwork. Wants to hear Tim talk about his day as he walks in the door.

...But he can't. He can't because Tim doesn't deserve Matt. Tim deserves something better. So Matt will wait, and when it goes up in flames he will accept it. Now, though? Now he can just pretend. Matt's good at pretending.

"So what you're saying is that we should pace ourselves in drink," Matt states, and he's teasing, a bit--sure they've had dates where there's no alcohol. Lunch ones, mostly--but this? This is how he's comfortable. It's wrong, too, that he knows that Tim is more comfortable when he's drunk.

Matt just wants to forget.

"I'd just hate to keep you from anything," he murmurs. Goes to grab a fork that Tim's pulled down, purposely brushing his arm against the other's hip as he does so.