As if in answer to Kotetsu's ribbing, the pale dusting of pink on Barnaby's cheeks darkens, but Barnaby refuses to address it one way or another. He grabs the rice instead, and a collander, and pours the rice in before stuffing the entire setup under the tap for rinsing. He has no sleeves, and he's still wearing the clothing he slept in, which isn't much, so at least he is safe on that front.

"I'm going to do more than just rinsing rice," he says. "A four year old could accomplish this without a lot of instruction. It doesn't teach me anything." Barnaby pauses, letting the steady sound of swishing and the clink of metal against the sink fill the pause. "A couple girls asked me on dates. I said no. They stopped asking," Barnaby finishes, looking over at Kotetsu, a coolly irritated expression on his features.

It may or may not be the reason that people had stopped asking. He hadn't come by the charming demeanor he wore so well by chance. It had been work, hard work, and much coaching.