Of course he knew she was deliberately puffing him up, but he wasn't humble enough to not enjoy it a little. It always felt good to hear people talk like that about his writing. He was sure that was pretty normal; so much humility in some artists just stank of insincerity.
"No, I don't need to. But no doubt I'll end up magpie-ing some parts," he admitted. "Heartless bastard like that," he half-joked. Fortunately, in her case, it would be very loving- not like the cruel words he'd typed out about some people. God, the times a friend had been outraged by their fictional portrayal. But surely if they recognised themselves, that said more about them than his cathartic writing ever could.
The kiss was better than words could ever be, and he returned it with equal fervour. If he couldn't tell her how much he loved her, he would try to express it some other way. "Oh, God. We're screwed," he chuckled softly, oddly happy about the idea.