[Well. At least he doesn't have to push for Ms. Jones to take the bed instead of barricading herself in the cold, poorly insulated bathroom with an improvised stake: small steps, he guesses.

Matt finally IDs the drink of choice: it's been awhile since he felt that particular brand sting his nostrils and eyes behind the lens of his glasses, but he remembers it well enough. Johnnie Walker. Memories of Columbia Law. Apparently still in production even despite a vampiric pandemic stretching into almost a decade, now, and he wonders faintly why he's surprised by that in the first place.]

I should hope not, but I would also say it's understandable considering -

[And Matt gestures a pale hand at himself and then, at Jessica, at her hot pulse racing throughout her body like an impressionistic neon painting of a human's operating circulatory system.]

- If you find something lacking, I can shop around once it's night again. Aside from alcohol, is there something else I'll need to look for?

[Not technically, because Matt is almost preemptively bracing himself for Jessica to point out that yes, he's blind and he can't actually look for anything the way she can. She wouldn't be Ms. Jones if she wasn't testing the fences, so to speak, pushing her luck with that "charming" wit of hers.]