"I think that's exactly what it is," Charles agrees, gently. "And I take back what I said about it not being about survival, by the way."

Because fuck.

He is also unconvinced about pie with actual oranges in it, returning to cinnamon. The shiny black-bruise quality of his nails is inspected, briefly -- he barely even remembers doing that to himself -- before he says, "You don't drink. Hence the invitation of pie and a smoke. Speaking of--"

It's your fault for tanking the mood, Severus.