[He's more fortunate than most in his profession, for which financial feast and famine is the undeniable reality: Matthew de Clermont, on top of being filthy rich in his own right, doesn't suffer friends' unpaid tabs either on land or (frozen) water. But Kit counts himself doubly fortunate tonight to have the opportunity and pleasure of teasing Benedict a bit, and he nudges his shoulder against his for a moment, warmth threading in his echo of of course.

The steaming drink is a sumptuous curative for the cold and he smiles over the lip, savoring the scent despite the brief pang of bittersweetness he feels. Cinnamon and spices reminds him of the house on Water Lane.

But he's not sorry to be here instead.]

A toast to your redemption? [He touches his cup to Benedict's with a heavy clink.] You're forgiven... but only if you have fun without fussing and sketch a picture by the end of the night.