It was a tough choice, len decided to split his plate into three smaller mounds of pasta so that he could try each sauce. Barry had worked hard for this meal, even he didn't know how to make his own pasta. He'd thrown together something he called tomato sauce once when he'd had the urge to try it, but it wasn't nearly as good as this.

Full of pasta he sat and mostly listened to Barry talk, occasionally giving his two cents. When Barry asks him things he pushes past his own reluctance to give him answers, nothing too involved, summing up stories, but it's more than he'd given anyone. And they didn't have to be nearly freezing to death to talk. So that's something. He'd get better at is as time went on and he got comfortable with something normal.

He watches the other, amused by his desire to speed through dishes and before he knows it he's being pulled along into the living room and pushed onto the couch. With a smirk he'll sip his wine.

"I'm perfectly content to watch." He shifts to get comfortable, pulse ramping up ever-so-slightly at the suggestiveness of this.