Apparently, mid-fourties wasn't that far off after all, but still, Jerome arched a brow for a second, deciding not to tell Oliver that he had expected him to say something along the lines of forty-six. For a heartbeat, his blood ran cold when Oliver had to correct himself due to the fact that he apparently had spent his last birthday here at Zenith, and that there had been no way of knowing when exactly this had taken place. Little remarks like these always made sure to remind him in which situation he had been placed into, even when having the absolute basics of smalltalk. It felt like little, off-putting spikes that arose whenever they felt like it, rupturing the mere attempt of trying to feel somewhat normal.
But as many other things, these feeling got instantly contained, and Jerome didn't let on about them, rather concentrating on the fact that Oliver was almost ten years younger than himself, which was, at least, a little unexpected. He leaned against the sink, having cleaned each and every piece of dish in his immediatey reach, and luckily, the pleasant anticipation of eating those really delicious looking sandwiches that began to form on the two plates kind of overwrote the twitchy urge of just grabbing everything and doing it for himself.
A tiny laugh fled his lips when Oliver wagged his finger between them, and he nodded amusedly. He really did enjoy this conversation, and it was oddly, but pleasantly easy to just engage with it. If he would have met Oliver back in Germany, it wouldn't even matter under which circumstances it would have happened, this would have been completely different.
"Apparently. I guess you are not especially used to being the youngest inside a room in Zenith", he teased playfully.