[ Idle and very nearly meandering, Fitz eases over to his friend. Still disarmed by Markus' sincerity, as ever, which earns a helpless little huff of air. At least he smiles, soft, as if the edges have been sanded off, where he might have dodged the compliment weeks before now. Always shouldn't be offered to Fitz so freely — evidence, perhaps, that Markus gives a great deal of himself to others.

Fitz hopes the gesture is returned. ]

Don't even remember what the outside world looks like, [ drawling. ] all I can see are waistcoats and brogues. Ties for days and days and days.

[ He slips his hands into the pockets of the suitcoat, testing the way the fabric lies and glancing down briefly to see if it wrinkles. Well smart, indeed. ]

Nothing you're eyeing here first though, yeah? [ glancing around. ] For work or, y'know, whatever fashionable pursuits you get up to when I'm not stealing you away for the day. [ a spark there, delighted that he was able to do just that, even though he'd like to balance the scales between them. ] If not, the deal was that I get to buy you lunch, anyway. [ Phrased carefully. Not a debt this time, but something earned. Fitz gets to do that — has orchestrated a chance to ensure that Markus is as well as he can be, in these circumstances. ] Late lunch.