"Goodnight didn't, sometimes," Vasquez counters, which is funny to him because for all that Vasquez had prodded and jibed at him with words, he seemed to tolerate Vasquez whereas he seemed sometimes jittery around Faraday. "And who says I like you?"

It would be the biggest bullshit lie in existence to say he doesn't, but he likes to bullshit, sometimes.

"Maybe you can earn my name eventually," he says with a casual shrug, as if he's not already thinking of when he can have it. Walking back towards the inn, he can feel the interest stirring again, fantasies he thought he'd buried resurfacing, of Faraday moaning his proper name in his ear. Cheeks going a touch hot, he stares forward. "And we'll see about colour. Maybe you can wear a big nose, like a clown?"