If Bodhi’s easy (accidental) discovery of Cassian’s secret mug was any indication, obviously the Rebellion’s elite spy-assassin was losing his touch. But the look he gave Bodhi across the table was just one of mild embarrassment. Obviously, he’d just been trying to keep the truth from the wrong person. With a sigh of acceptance that Rook was right and he was very much a mess, Andor leaned to one side, his mouth pressed into such a thin line that it nearly disappeared beneath his mustache. He dropped the rag he’d previously been cleaning his hands with to the ground over the puddle of offending tea. He stamped on it, the brown water steeping through the cloth where he’d made an impact to leave a perfect print of his boot tread. As he straightened, his eyes went back to Bodhi and he gave a slight shrug, as if this effort of his had solved the problem.
“Bodhi Rook, you are right. I am a mess.” Captain Andor eyed the edges of Rook’s plate, looking for a vegetable he could claim without touching anything else with his engine-oiled hands. The prey he decided on was a potato, and then looked back up, first at the former Imperial cargo pilot and then passed him. His eyebrows curved. “Is that Jyn over there?” When Rook turned, Cassian plucked the potato from his friend’s plate and held it in the cleaner of two hands, and mumbled something about being wrong as an explanation before popping the spud into his mouth making no attempt to hide his theft as he pressed it into one cheek.
He had a strange desire to make Bodhi smile whenever he good. Mostly because Rook always seemed to try so hard to get any single of enjoyment from him. It was a trick, he supposed. If Bodhi smiled enough, he might not be as quick to notice he was the only one doing it. But that wasn’t all there was too it. Rook’s energy and enthusiasm were more infectious than Andor would like to admit. Having friends, people he genuinely cared about and wanted to spend time with was still a new enough experience that it was something Cassian was still adjusting to. He wasn’t used to the term ally meaning more than someone who simply shared a common goal, it was nice. A kind of warmth that radiated almost as brightly as Rook’s eyes were wide.
“So tell me.” He said, after chewing his way around the potato. “Tell me how your morning has been.”