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“I don’t wear ties.”
“Yes, I know. But honestly, it shouldn’t be so bloody difficult for you to keep one straight for more than five minutes.”
“I didn’t ask you to fix it.”
“Of course you didn’t. You never ask me to do the shopping either. Or the cooking. Or the washing up. What’s one more thing?”
“I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”
“Are you.”
“That sounded rhetorical.”
“Did it?”
“That sounded sarcastic. Really, John. And you make me out to be the childish one.”
“Only because you are.”
“Hardly. Your fussing over me is entirely unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary my arse. How you survived so long without a full-time nanny is beyond me.”
“I am a grown man, John. I’m aware of my needs as well as how to fulfill them. I am also aware of how much personal satisfaction you seem to get from taking care of those needs yourself.”
“Keeping you alive barely counts as fulfilling your needs, you prat.”
“But you don’t deny it.”
“Deny what?”
“That you enjoy taking care of me.”
“What? I never — I mean, um, that is —”
“It’s quite alright. Nothing to feel ashamed — what? What is it? What are you looking at?”
“Did you just mess up your tie? On purpose?”
“…No.”
“Really.”
“Stop smiling.”
“Only if you stop blushing.”