( he gives a flare of that bottle and she catches the glint of it, like saturated honey, and she's left cradling it as he steps in behind her, the bitter new york air clinging to him and wafting in alongside that signature leather scent. she notes his steps receding behind her, further into the heart of that apartment, and she's trailing and ticking locks back into place on habit. upon his comment she's surveying the bottle, an artful raise of a brow as she reads it's title aloud; honestly, the notable attributes are that it's full and certainly not anything light. )

You know, I might venture to my being able to drink you under the table, but those bets having been boding for me too well as of late.

( not that she can say it hasn't worked out for her, now.

one of the windows is left cracked, flirting with the sheer curtains that tousle with each of the city's breaths let in. there's some sort of affirmation in the way he doesn't just make himself at home, recognizes he's somewhere that'd been put together long before she'd met him. there's no guidelines for any of this, fitting himself somewhere that wasn't his and her opening a door for him to see her written in hints around the apartment, but it's the endearing hesitancy that urges her to settle him a bit more.

steps pad quietly over towards the kitchen, pressing up onto her toes to pinch at the rims of two whiskey glasses as his question reaches her. ) Not really. ( it's muffled, given her back's to him, and when she twirls around again it's to set hollow glasses atop the island. she twists off the cap of that gifted bottle, pouring a hearty two-fingers worth for both of them before she draws nearer, one of the shares held out to him in offering, similar to the way he'd enticed it upon his entry. )

Sort of? ( her nose wrinkles a little, admittedly. ) Sometimes it seems feels like I always am. Hard to turn that off.