Her face grows warm at his teasing. Laughing, she swats at him as she pretends to move away from the frame of the 'camera', but as she does so, she leans too much to one side that she nearly topples off the couch. Is this what it's like to be properly drunk? Head spinning like you've just been punched, but you're in such a good mood that you don't mind it anyway?

"At least there was no internet before. It's bad enough they have my costume on display at the Smithsonian. Could you really see my ass from under that skirt?" she rambles. It takes a moment to register that he'd reached out to steady her, or that he'd closed the distance between them considerably. She likes it.

The moment is broken by him asking if she needs a refill and pulling away to do so.

"Never have I ever..." She's watching him, her trail of thought momentarily forgotten as she takes in his face. She remembers more than enough to sketch him from memory — probably every detail, even, if she's being honest with herself — and she suddenly finds herself filled with the desire to either do just that, or, well, kiss him. She licks her lips distractedly, then swallows.

"Never have I ever fallen in love," she decides, accepting her glass and meeting his gaze.