[He's about to counter-protest again but he sees that quirk. He reaches up for a light, playful shove to Beckett's shoulder. Silly vampire. Whatever he might have to actually say, though, is also cut off by Rhys's intervention.

Between the good cheer and playfulness from them both, the smell of good food, and the sheer need of it, he laughs, light and so free of pain and sorrow it could even be called pure.]

A story to be told over good food?

[...Which he then sets himself up to sabotage unwittingly, of course. Yes, Beckett, eat instead.]