[ Wash is definitely the quiet type, generally, and a good listener. He lets him talk, nodding now and then -- amused at that picture he paints of the cheesemaking dog walker. He watches him carefully, his mannerisms when he talks, his breathing, the way he shifts in his seat, just to read how genuine he's being, less because he thinks he'd really be lying and more out of habit and instinct. It clearly all rings true, puts him in a certain place of vulnerability to talk about.

It's things that make sense, though in some ways also why Wash had kept away. The other way around, Wash would've had a distinct discomfort with someone who just knew him a lot better than they should -- he would've seen it more as an invasion than something that makes it easier. But Dick clearly was getting something out of their interactions, enough for him to keep thinking about it, to clearly want more. ]

No cheesemaking, no dogwalking. [ He's more of a cat guy, anyway. He takes pauses to take another sip from his coffee. ] ] Who I was during that week might not have been real but -- there was more truth to it than not.

[ He doesn't like thinking about it, just because of what that implies about how well the city has him pegged, just because of what it means that it was so easy for him to slip into some kind of life here. But when it came to some other things, when it came to this. ]

It'd be a little pointless to go back and forth about what a collective hallucination really meant, and things like that. [ He leans forward a little, too, his voice sliding into something just a little lower, his full weight of his gaze, intense as it always is, fixed on Dick's. ] But I can tell you this much.

I was getting something out of it. And there was a lot about you I liked.

[ A lot of his buttons being hit, so to say. He leans back in his seat, but just so he can look at him more fully, his eyes briefly flicking down over his face to what he can see of the curve of his throat, back up again. ]

I don't think that much has changed.