His eyes crinkle with a kind of fondness, though it, like the rest of him, is colored by this... reluctance? Timidness?

"Are those your baking? That's terribly kind of you, Zivia."

He sets the table; a plate for each, a cup and saucer for each, and pours for them both. He allows himself to take one of the sweet rolls, and quietly says his thanks over it.

Once they're settled... well, they're settled. There's no putting it off anymore.

"So I believe you had a few, ah, questions about... what you saw of me onstage."