Watching James inspect the food and eat it like it was an uncommon object was unsurprising, and yet pathetic. It had Jefferson wondering just what the hell else whoever had washed his brain had made him think was acceptable. Not that he was eating because it was a hobby, but the cooking was a distraction for his mind, as was taking care of his new charge. Typically, one seemed to function better on a full stomach anyways, and Emma told him awhile ago that food helped with your mood. They both needed that he thought.
He let his twin enjoy the experience, leaning comfortably back in his chair, weary from standing so long in the shop. When he was sure that James would just eat it and not question every leaf of the salad, Jefferson forked a few pieces into his mouth, completely fine with the brief silence and lack of anxiety the outside world was constantly bringing.
At least there wasn't an argument about the gun. Jefferson was sure that James was clinging to that because it was familiar, and he'd been given nothing else to go by other than he was a thing. Poor lamb.
"Just sometime before we do your haircut would be great." He answered with a small, lackluster gesture of his free hand, not wanting James to think he needed to tear away from his dinner to bother with it right away. "Exploding things, guns, and sharp objects don't need to be in the way."