Although his expression still doesn't give anything away, if he's watching closely enough Jesus can tell that he gave the 'right' answer from how Drake's posture relaxes slightly. The silence that stretches between them isn't uncomfortable, at least. Just weighty, echoing the importance of his internal consideration.

It probably feels like it takes him forever, but then Drake stands up and crosses to the kitchen counter to open the drawer on the end. That ubiquitous "stuff" drawer with things like tape, scissors, rubber bands, spare takeout utensils, the random not-quite-junk that doesn't quite belong anywhere else. He pulls out some papers and returns to Jesus, setting them down -- it's their unsigned contract. The same terms as always, the copy that Jesus didn't sign on Friday morning. Drake hadn't thrown it out.

"We need to actually talk about... everything," he warns Jesus, "but if you mean that? Neither of us need me playing keep away with it."