It’s at this moment that the timer rings, and Eyrin calls out, “Timer, off.” The tone ends, and then Eyrin murmurs, “Excuse me,” as he sidles closer to the pot. 

T’kri blinks. “Excuse you for… ah, I see,” they say, and then step aside so Eyrin has full access to the stove.

Huh. That might’ve been one of the first times T’kri was tripped up by a language thing. For having learned it yesterday, they know how to use it quite well. Eyrin puts the thought out of his mind, though, as he attends to the food. He grabs some towels to protect himself from the hot handles, puts on the pot’s cover, and drains the water in the kitchen sink on the counter. Then, he pulls out two plates, using the same chopsticks he used earlier to split the noodles onto them, before grabbing a jar of marinara sauce in his cabinet, struggling with the lid briefly, and dumping a generous amount of sauce onto the plates. He goes to grab another set of chopsticks before thinking better of it and grabbing a fork instead, jabbing it into one of the jumbles of noodles. That done, he makes his way to the table. 

Eyrin sets the plates down before taking a seat, and T’kri joins him at the table. “This is probably one of the easiest options for a somewhat proper meal,” Eyrin says. “I have instant ramen, too, but that doesn't really count.”

“I see.”

“You can eat whatever food you want, really.” Eyrin shrugs, using his chopsticks to lift up a bunch of spaghetti. “Not like I’m hurting for money or anything. If you want to know how to cook something, you can ask me or I can show you how to use the internet. Do you have something like the internet—?” He stops when he realizes T’kri is blinking at him, eyes wide with what he can only assume is bewilderment. “Oh, sorry. Is there something you’re confused about?”

T’kri blinks again. “I… yes. Why… ‘hurt for money’?”

“Oh. That’s a figure of speech,” Eyrin explains. “If I’m hurting for money, it means that I’m in need of money. It’s a bit like an emotional hurt.” He lifts the spaghetti into his mouth. 

“I see.” T’kri pulls their arms onto the table from where they were folded in their lap. “Regarding ‘internet’… we do have something similar, yes. A network of information. Augments can access it in their minds directly.”

Eyrin nods, swallowing his mouthful. “Huh. Do you think your technology could interact with ours?”

“With a bit of work, I do not doubt it. For now, it may be best for me to interact with your technology using more primitive interfaces.” 

Interesting. Eyrin hums in acknowledgement, and then goes back to his spaghetti. T’kri watches him for a bit longer before noting, “The utensils you use are different.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Eyrin says, lifting up his left hand to make a grabbing motion with his chopsticks. “These are chopsticks, which I use a lot since it’s what I’m used to, my family always used them. They’re commonly used in… I think East, South, and Southeast Asian countries? If that means anything to you.” He gathers more spaghetti as he speaks. “Forks are more common in Western cultures, and I figure they’re more straightforward and would be easier to use for you.” 

“I would be able to replicate your movements, having seen them,” T’kri says, “but I suppose I have used the fork before. I will attempt your chopsticks next time. Generally, it would be easier for me if there are opportunities to replicate your actions.”

Eyrin’s not sure that confidence comes from actual ability to copy Eyrin or—actually, it probably makes sense that they can, considering they’re human-shaped and not flailing around in a confused lack of motor coordination. 

“As for the ‘countries’ you speak of,” T’kri continues, “I believe I have absorbed sufficient knowledge to understand to an extent, though my own society has no such divisions within our species’ civilization.” 

“Huh.” That sounds… nice? Maybe? To have that kind of unity would probably make running society easier, at least.

T’kri then proceeds to pick up their fork and attempt to stab a bunch of the noodles. They lift it up, mildly successful in acquiring some of the sauce-coated noodles. 

“Oh, uh,” Eyrin gestures vaguely towards their fork. “It’s sometimes easier if you twist the fork around. Might be able to get more of the noodles that way.”

T’kri nods, lowering their fork and making a second attempt, this time twirling their fork, and succeeds in getting more of the spaghetti. They then try to stick it in their mouth with some success—but not without getting a trail of sauce on their chin. “This is… messy,” T’kri says around the noodles, before chewing them slowly with a deeply ponderous look.

Eyrin chuckles a bit. “I guess it’ll take some getting used to, huh?” He grabs a napkin from the holder on the table and holds it out to T’kri. “You can use this to wipe it off.” 

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” They take it and proceed to do so before fully swallowing their mouthful. “This is… I think it is good. I like the eggs and bacon more, however.”

Eyrin gives a breathy laugh. “Yeah, me too. It’s not as healthy, though.” He pauses. “Not that pasta is really healthy.”

“I see.”

The rest of the lunch is fairly quiet, and T’kri quickly learns how to eat spaghetti without making a mess of themself. Eyrin then shows them how to wash the dishes, and they copy Eyrin’s movements rather exactly as they sponge their plate clean, rinse it off, and slot it right next to Eyrin’s on the drying rack.

“Are you going back to sleep now?” Eyrin asks as he’s toweling his hands dry. 

T’kri hums. “Yes, I believe I shall. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Eyrin turns around to see T’kri bowing their head at him, shortly followed by them raising their head. “It’s… just being decent,” Eyrin says, looking away. “Not like I’d leave you to die. Or starve. Or get captured and experimented on or killed.”