Zechariah smiled, smooth as butter, and clinked his glass to Elijah’s. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

It looked perfect, on paper. What more could he ask for?

He cheered when Elijah spoke of food. Oh! Did he cook for himself? What a delightful lower class existence! The smile grew amused at ‘particular diet’.

“If you err toward vegetarian and refrain from cooking insects in, it is practically kosher.”

Cozy. Elijah preferred cozy, whereas Zechariah tried to keep everything but his office looking plausibly vacant. Should he get more things? But space was wealth. A crisis for another time, he supposed. Children would ruin everything soon enough.

“Your home is--” tempting, a terrible idea, “--lovely, I have no doubt of this, but perhaps some air would do us both well.”

He hated grass. Man was designed to sit and eat in upholstered chairs.