Thank goodness Eugene had found his tongue and kept his cool, because that accusation left Jack flabbergasted, gaping in the few moments it took his eyes narrow into offended hurt and his teeth to meet in the soft click that always preceded sharp, completely unplanned words.

But Eugene was taking over, and he occupied the time in stooping to pick up the apron off the floor, crumpling it aimlessly in his hands as he met that curious look with one of complete incomprehension. He couldn't keep that cool, not when he recognized this, not when the cold awareness of how helpless they could well be in the face up it crawled on icy spindles through his gut, drew his voice tense even as he tried again to smooth it over.

"Zev, hey. If you don't want to make dinner, you don't have to make dinner." That was what this was about, right? Chores. Please let it be melodrama about chores. He looked at Eugene again, a little more pleading than the last. "Gene and I can take this. You can go read if you want. Or grab a nice bath, maybe?"