[ His boxer friend is good at that — at being charming in an unpretentious way, at making someone feel special and wanted. How can he do that for him in turn? He could fall back on imitation, but that would be too obvious and might even seem insincere. He could... ask, it might actually be that simple. Has there ever been a time when Wriothesley ever met his questions with mockery or hostility?

Not a single one. As Wriothesley pours him a cup of tea, Pinocchio retrieves the menu — just one to share between them. He feels good to sit beside, one long line of warmth from knee to shoulder, where the boxer's strong thigh rests against his. Conscious of the metal he has hovering so close to his vulnerable side, his metal fingers clasp his own leg out of sight, on the other side of the menu, to prevent his prosthetic from any errant flinches. ]

There's so much I don't know. A lot I didn't have a chance to learn, [ hedges the puppet, a little freer than he might have been with someone else, if only because Wriothesley already could tell he was new to this when they came together against a bathroom wall. ] Perhaps it's best I started with you.

Don't think I haven't noticed how much of your time you spend on helping others. What do you like? Is it bondage? [ he bluntly asks, grasping at the one specific thing he heard him mention. ]