It's not a comfortable couch, exactly - not really made for lazing - but they both fit on it, and there's nothing more comfortable in the apartment. Cyrus lets himself sprawl a little as well, as the Avox returns to set wine on the table in front of them. (She, of course, does not sprawl; she stations herself not too close to the couch and not too far from the wall, ready to move at another gesture from Cyrus.)

He raises his eyebrows. "Seriously? That's what I was going to do this evening." He leans forward to pick up the wineglasses, proffering one to Stephen as he sinks back against the cushions. "Thank God. I won't have to change my plans."

A pause, to sip at the wine and give the Avox a nod of satisfaction (a signal that she takes as a command to step back to her place by the wall). There's something wry in the statement-- a nod to common rumor, which has filled his nights off with a lot less tame pursuits, especially in recent months.