"Yes!"

"I'm also an older sibling, you know," he comments, conversationally, now that he has so much more access to air. Deeeeep breath. "Being mean to your sibs is a time-honored tradition."

"You know, people say that, but I get it from Lucy too and I've never found any way to fight back that didn't make me feel like a bastard. I'm surrounded by vipers."

"Even having spent even less time around her than I did you," deep breath, "I am finding myself unsurprised."

"The way to effectively tease Lu is by being patient and understanding and incredibly condescending about whatever she's talking about. It doesn't matter if you agree with her, just nod and smile and fill your mind with thoughts of how adorable it is that she's so enthusiastic. She explodes, every time."

"Oh, but I would, too. I'm kinning her right now."

"Oh, is that one of those words you've picked up from the Internet? It's great how you can describe things no one would have bothered to think about twenty years ago, isn't it? It's so nice for -"

Handful of water, splash directly in Susan's face. "Don't torment him!"

Susan sputters delightedly. "It's how I show affection!"

He turns over to lie on his stomach and prop his head up on his elbows. "It's okay, it doesn't work when she calls attention to it. Besides, maybe I like being tormented sometimes."

"Too easy. What's Ed's forfeit, anyway?"

"Hmm, I think I don't want to say where you can hear it; he can decide whether he'll tell you later, how about?"

"Oh, fine. I'm off to do my own laps, then." She slips out from under Edmund and goes into the water, then over to an unoccupied lane.

Edmund rests his head on the tiles and closes his eyes. "Your refusal to name my forfeit in my sister's presence does not reassure me."

"Oh, it's not that bad. I just want to go on a date with you."

"...and it's a silly forfeit because obviously you can say no if you want, and I should tell you that I am obligate polyamorous. I just wanted an excuse to do it. And I guess I'm not unconscious of the minor social pressure involved in it being a forfeit."

"A... date? Like - there's a café by the school... I'm confused about how serious a proposition this is? I suppose? Because - if you want to date me that's different than wanting to go for coffee and see what happens, which is different from wanting to, to go for coffee and kiss on the doorstep - there aren't even any doorsteps involved, here, we live in the same hallway -"

"Man we've just met, I just think you're cute and kind of want to kiss you and what little exposure I have had to your personality is neat and I don't have any particular plans but that doesn't mean I am not open to plans emerging fully-formed from the aether once we have had sufficient exposure to each other. Going for coffee and kissing on the doorstep and then seeing where that goes sounds splendid to me but if it turns out that after coffee you don't want to kiss me that is also fair enough."

Aaaand he's babbling. Come on, Tarleton, get a grip, you are a confident attractive Mary Sue and this is not your first rodeo. Even though he gets butterflies every rodeo. He supposes this is a bit faster and more forward than he usually is?

He will shut his brain up now.

...when Pete starts babbling, Edmund stops babbling, and sits up, and eventually, once the flow of words has ceased, puts his hand over Pete's.

"...it is nice to know that you're not... always on," he muses. "I'd love to go for coffee with you, and see what happens. When were you thinking?"

"I am so incredibly not always on," he breathes. "Um. Honestly whenever you want? You're the one who knows this place and its, uh, customs and, I don't even know when dinner is or what they serve at the cafeteria."

And then he carefully spreads his fingers slightly apart to tentatively wrap them around Edmund's, a little bit.

"...yeah, probably we want some supper first," Edmund admits. "Meet you when it lets out, how about? I can stand in front of the statue of Byng - uh, he's the one with the bicorne."

"Sounds good to me," he says, grinning.

"...so when is supper?"

Squint at the nearest clock. "...in twenty minutes, actually. Time does fly."

"Huh. So it does." Pete sits up then reaches up to pull his swimming cap off and run a hand through his hair. Which seems to be enough for it to not stick wetly to his skull and neck and to instead just sag a little bit under its own weight. "Shall we, then?"