He enjoys the fact that he isn't told to be quiet when his thoughts go on tangents, and that he doesn't have to sugarcoat the things he says for fear of offense. All his life he's told himself constantly to shut up, McFly or stop it, nobody's going to listen or stick to two decimal places because five would make everyone stop paying attention you rambling idiot. The freedom that comes with being to express himself is nice. For all his fluttery, corny feelings, he still apologizes profusely around Liam for just about everything he says--Phillip, on the other hand, is comfortable. And that's probably because he doesn't have to worry Phillip's going to leave him for someone better all the time.
"Water-hating Belgian chocolate?" Anakin questions, the ghost of a laugh somewhere in there, but he doesn't go any further than that, because all in all it's still hot chocolate: incredibly fancyhot chocolate (which Anakin has no doubt he can't afford with all his funds going into his research), but chocolate nevertheless. He takes the tin in his hands and looks it over with a sort of awed silence, reading over the text despite his inability to understand the language. Italian and English can only get you so far, and he doubts a knowledge of Klingon would've made a difference, too. He treats the tin like it's made of glass, like he's afraid he'll stain it, somehow. It's not his, after all. "Did you receive this as a gift, then?" He finds his head tilting, a tiny curve of his lips. "Because you have some really generous pen pals. They're more generous than my husband-to-be, too, considering he's kind of going through an existential crisis right about now... but you don't really expect much from Cameron Frye."
Anakin smiles, a crooked thing that reaches his eyes, and he walks over to the fridge in the room to take out a carton of milk. "It's a good thing I really like my dairy," he mentions, off-handedly, as he pours it into an electronic kettle for heating, "but one thing I learned in life is that milk is good for poor people. Fills you up--not as good as food, but it's affordable." He ties the ends of the blanket around his neck like a cape, for fear of it slipping off his shoulders. He's already beginning to feel a little warmer.
"Thanks, by the way," he continues, turning towards Phillip and shoving his hands into his pockets. "For the hot chocolate. I neither confirm nor deny the suspicion that I have a sweet tooth." And, like an afterthought, he blinks suddenly and clears his throat, making a sort of rickety hand gesture.
"And, uh, make yourself comfortable, too! Really. I'm going to force Space Impact into your hands, so a good seated position is recommended."
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