（ his hands still, midway through scrubbing that first pot right around the time she says dangerous. as light as her tone is, no one tells that shit to a stranger unless they're holding onto baggage about it, and after a moment he ducks down and rubs his ear into one shoulder like he's chasing away an itch he can't abate with soapy hands. ）

Oh, you know. Sink-y. I'm pretty sure I ran into some week-old oatmeal or... what I hope is week-old oatmeal? Somehow, I'll live.

（ he falls briefly silent, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn patch of something or other, and he takes the time to idly say: ）

I wish more people would realize the issue isn't being dangerous. It's being cruel. That can take any shape, at any time. And it's what they're being, when they give someone a label like that without realizing what it means. Personally, I think Joan Jett had it right. （ a little off-key on purpose, ） I don't give a damn about my reputation — I've never been afraid of any deviation, et cetera.

（ he says it irreverently. like it's just some casually held belief of some casual guy. how she'll choose to take it is anyone's guess. ）