[she regard him for a moment, neutrality in her expression for the time, as she considers that he serves the empress, a woman who must have chefs and banquets and access to all the food she could want. (nunnally wouldn't ever overdo it, but she has the option to do it.) he can't eat in public, but here he is, choosing a homemade sandwich from milly ashford over the grandeur of the britannian empire. it might be out of necessity, but she still laughs at the idea, shaking her head as she gazes at him with fondness.] Write down your favourites, and if you swing by at some point in the day, they'll be waiting for you. Or I could just ask for an audience with you every day around noon...

[it's teasing-- she knows that could jeopardise his task, and her job, and possibly even their lives (more than usual) if she sees him too often, but the idea is cute. it's something she'll keep tucked away for a rainy day, to think about when the apartment is empty and the news has been bleak. it'll sit next to the memories of past visits and the excitement for future ones.

his offer makes he smile brighter, but that eager smile doesn't stay for too long.] Right. But someone has to do the afternoon and evening newscasts. You protect our empress' every move, and I tell the world about it. [there's a small shrug after that, accompanied by a strange smile-- it's almost bashful] I hope that the stars align and the holes in our schedules do too. I think they align for breakfasts and good night kisses often enough, though.

[don't worry about me, is what she means as she looks away from him, eyes staring into space in the direction of the window. you're off the hook.]