Neal nudged the doorbell with his elbow, keeping his hands in his pockets to protect them from the icy, December air. He stamped his boots against the numbness in his feet while he waited for Regina to—

"Thank God," he shuddered as she swung the door open. "Holy shit, it's cold out there."

"Well, that's winter for you," Regina said dryly, standing back so he could walk in. "Shoes, Neal."

"Sorry," he said hastily, kicking the snow off.

"Henry's in the kitchen," Regina said, shutting the door and beckoning for him to follow her. "And remember, this is the first time he's been out all week, so he's extremely angsty."

"Yay…" Neal muttered under his breath. Moody teenagers were one of the true joys in Life.

Henry was indeed looking very moody, sitting at the kitchen table with his head resting in one hand, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Oddly enough, Emma was sitting across from him…delivering a Mom-lecture, how delightful.

"…don't even think about sneaking out, because I will know. I sleep with both eyes open, and I've got, like, ninja reflexes, so I'm not fucking around here, kid—"

"Hey, Dad," Henry said loudly, lifting his head. Emma looked around.

"Neal." She smiled nervously. "He-e-ey…"

"Hey, Em." Neal stopped in front of her, raising his eyebrows. "So, uh—did I just hear you threatening the kid with ninja moves?"

"What, this? Uh…No. No, we were just—" she swallowed, shifting her eyes around—"we're talking about…o-other things."

He nodded slowly.

"But, uh—" Emma cleared her throat, standing up from her chair—"we're done now, so… you guys can get going."

"Great. You ready, Henry?"

"Yeah," Henry muttered, pulling on his coat. "Let's go."

"Here—" Neal tossed him the keys—"go wait in the car, I want to talk to your moms a sec."

Henry nodded, twirling the keys around his fingers as he left the room. Regina said something to him as he went out the door, which he nodded in response to; she shut the door, and walked over with folded arms to join Emma and Neal.

"He's not allowed to use his phone," Regina informed him. "I've let him take it with him, so I can track it in case he runs off, but he's not allowed to text or take calls. Especially from Violet. And if you catch him trying to get away with it, I want you to take his phone away."

Emma bumped Neal with her elbow. "You got that, Cassidy?" she said sternly. "You take that phone away. Don't try to be the cool dad—"

"But I am the cool dad."

Emma braced her hands on his shoulders. "Listen to the words coming out of my mouth," she said dangerously. "I know you're the cool dad. I'm telling you not to be. Henry knows he's not supposed to text Violet, and he knows what should happen if he does. And if you don't enforce that…I'm going to be mad at you."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "You're really going to be mad at me? After I stole you that keychain and everything?"

Emma fought a smile. "Yes," she said unconvincingly. "I'm going to be mad at you."

"Mmmm—" Neal squinted at her, cocking his head—"I don't think so."

"Well, fortunately," Regina said loudly before Emma could respond, "I don't find you nearly as cute as Emma does, so rest assured, Neal—I will be mad at you."

Neal's smile dropped. "Duly noted," he said, bobbing his head. "I'll watch him."

"See that you do."

Whale combed his fork through his Lean Cuisine lasagna, feeling the steam coming off the sad mess of cheap sauce and fake cheese before him. I am so cool, he thought dryly. Spending Friday night with lasagna. Yup—he glumly took a bite—this is living.

"Okay," Graham said, his feet drumming down the stairs. "I should probably get going soon. Jefferson said to meet him at eight."

"Awesome." Whale didn't not look up from his plate as he stabbed his fork into the rubbery pasta. Pathetic—pathetic—pathetic.

"Where's my…?" Graham's voice faded as he wandered into the laundry room. Whale let out a sigh, rummaging in the couch cushions for the remote: if he was lucky, maybe there was something non-Christmas-related on.

"…hope tonight goes well, I really need a social life," Graham was saying as he walked back into the room. "I want to get back into the swing of things, be a part of this town again."

"I'm sure everything will go fine and—whoa! Confidence!" Whale quickly averted his eyes as Graham came into sight, still pulling his shirt on. The words rock-hard abs came to mind…and repeated themselves…relentlessly.

"Something wrong?" Graham asked, apparently very at home in leaving his shirt open. Whale kept his gaze determinedly fixed on his lasagna, trying to ignore the mantra in his head. "Victor?"

"Fine," he mumbled. Please button your shirt, please button your shirt—wait, why do I even care? I don't care (rock-hard abs)—DAMN IT!

"You sure? You seem ill."

"Of course I'm ill. I'm eating fucking Lean Cuisine," he lied. "You know how many chemicals they put in these?"

Graham let out an amused, "Hmph," and sat down on the couch next to him; Whale was suddenly extremely aware of how short the couch was and how close Graham was sitting and the fact that out of the corner of his eye—no matter how much he focused on that damn Lean Cuisine—he could see rock-hard abs.

Button your shirt, button your shirt, button your shirt, he begged silently, closing his eyes. This was a weird situation, just a really weird, weird situation, with a lot of weird thoughts threatening the edges of his mind that must remain incomplete, or he'd be dealing with some very awkward tension between him and Graham.

"So, what are your plans for this evening?" Graham asked, nudging him. "You just going to sit there with your lasagna?"

"That's the plan." Whale cleared his throat, shifting his eyes to the ceiling. "Probably should get going, Graham."

"Yeah, I should," Graham said, glancing at his watch. "All righty—" he stood up, finally doing up his buttons—"see you later, Vic."

"Yeah, bye," he croaked. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, even as he heard Graham's footsteps walk away and the kitchen door open and shut; only when he heard the car drive away did he look away from the ceiling.

Whale dropped his fork, rubbing his forehead. Yeah, okay, I think I might be gay. Because now that he thought of it…well, since the curse broke, he hadn't really been out with anyone in a remotely romantic way. Back in the cursed days, he'd had a little fling with Mary Margaret, kinda had his eye on Ruby, maybe give a few of the prettier nurses a second look—but what if only his cursed self was straight? What if the reason why he hadn't had a love life since then was because…? Maybe his cursed self was straight, but his non cursed self? Mmm, not so much.

So….yeah. Probably…yeah, probably gay.

Maybe.

Well, probably.

Not for definite.

A good chance.

But not set in stone.

Extremely likely.

Unconfirmed, but…it was possible.

Possible.

Huh.

Well, that was interesting.

Belle closed one eye, pinching the popcorn between her fingers as she aimed. "You ready?"

Hook nodded, holding his mouth open.

"All right, here we go." She tossed it; Hook leaned far left, trying to catch it, toppling off the couch in the process—but reemerged, beaming as he crunched the popcorn in his teeth.

"Told you," he said triumphantly, righting himself back on the couch. "I'm good at this."

"You are," Belle said in surprise, high-fiving him. "I'm impressed."

"Okay, kids," Tink said as she walked carefully into the family room, balancing a tray of drinks in her hands. "Here we go."

Belle and Hook shifted on the couch to make room for Tink, smiling eagerly at the tall, pink drinks she'd whipped up. Rumple had gone to bed ages ago, declaring himself exhausted of Christmas shopping and people keeping secrets from him (Belle didn't even bother pointing out that Christmas was an entire season of secret-keeping).

"Oh, my God, Christmas is in a week," Hook said, shaking his head as he put the straw to his lips. "You guys all done with your shopping?"

"Just about," Belle smiled in satisfaction. "I just have two left: Regina and Neal."

Tink purred, raising a roguish eyebrow. "Neal…"

"Tink," Hook warned as Belle choked on her drink. "We talked about this."

"Like you have any room to talk," Tink said derisively. "Mr.-Must-Be-Seventeen-Or-Older-When-He's-In-The-Same-Room-With-Ruby."

Hook sputtered. "Excuse me, but there is a huge difference between being an affectionate couple and being a drunk fairy shamelessly lusting after my best friend."

"I thought I was your best friend," Belle frowned.

"You can have more than one best friend," he assured her. "It's allowed. I've got at least four. Sometimes five, depending on Robin's mood. Hang on—" his eyes lit up as he snapped his fingers and pointed at Tink—"Robin."

Tink frowned. "What about Robin?"

"I should get Robin to set you up with someone," Hook said enthusiastically. "He's got a friend—Will Something-Or-Other—"

"What, Will Scarlet?" Tink scoffed. "Been there, done that."

"Didn't you go to my vow renewal with him?" Belle asked, twirling her straw in her drink.

"Yeah, but I didn't leave with him," she snorted. "Shows you how much fun he was."

"There's more to a relationship than just sex," Hook said seriously.

Belle and Tink slowly turned their heads, giving him an incredulous look.

He shrugged. "So says Regina."

"Ah…" they said in dawning comprehension: they knew Hook couldn't have come up with that on his own.

"Anyways, Tink, I can put in a good word for you, if you want," Hook offered, raising his eyebrows as he took another sip. "What do you think?"

"I think if you want to set me up with someone, set me up with Gorgeous McSexy. Or Professor Sexy. Hey—" Tink turned to Hook with a gasp, hitting his shoulder—"bro, set me up with Graham."

"Graham?" Belle snorted, tossing her head. "Good luck."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Tink demanded. "Let me tell you something, I am one hot little mamacita, so don't even—"

"He's gay," Belle said loudly.

Hook's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"He's gay," Belle shrugged. "It's so obvious."

"But—" Hook exchanged a wide-eyed look with Tink, then turned back to Belle—"but he and Emma—-a-and then he and Ruby—"

"Have you seen him and Whale together?" Belle said. "They practically have eye sex across the room."

"Oh, they do not," Tink said scathingly. "Besides, when do you hang out with Whale and Graham?"

"They're in the diner all the time," she frowned. "You two are just too drunk and hormonal to notice."

"To be fair, when I'm in the diner, I'm usually busy with other things," Hook said. "At least, I was. S'pose that's over, now that Ruby's gone and quit her job."

"Wait, she quit?" Tink whirled around, staring at him. "You didn't tell me that!"

"I assumed Belle did. I mean, she tells you everything else, doesn't she?" he said acidly.

"Oh, my God, are you still on that?"

"Why would you tell Tink something like that? You know she's going to blab it all over town!"

"Hey!" Belle said fiercely. "You're the one who was supposed to keep it a secret! And you did some blabbing yourself! You told Ruby, didn't you?"

"That wasn't blabbing, that was self-preservation!" Hook snapped. "She's a bloody werewolf!"

"Hey, how does that work, by the way?" Tink asked, tugging on his sleeve. "You guys don't still…? Like when she's a wolf?"

"Like a literal wolf? Like…fur?"

"Yeah."

Hook frowned at her. "That's a little too kinky, even for me."

"And dangerous, I'd imagine," Belle said thoughtfully. "With the teeth and the claws…and wolves are kind of aggressive, aren't they?"

"Well, teeth and claws are very dangerous," Hook agreed, suddenly finding his shoes fascinating. "As for aggression, it should be…handled carefully."

Belle's eyebrows lifted. "Oh, my God," she said, smiling disbelievingly. "You are such a whore."

"Boom—" Tink fist-bumped him, grinning. "We're whores."

"Yeah, we are!"

"Guys," Belle said exasperatedly. "That's not something to congratulate yourselves on."

"Speak for yourself," Tink snorted, reaching for the pitcher to refill her glass. "Come on, guys, drink up— I don't want to be the only drunk bitch here."

"I'll be a drunk bitch with you," Hook said immediately, holding out his glass.

"Attaboy! Belle, gimme your glass—"

"Oh, but I'm going to be so hungover tomorrow already, Tink. I don't want to—"

"Boo!" Hook called out, taking his glass back from Tink. "Belle's being responsible!"

"Yeah, cut it out with responsibility bullshit," Tink complained. "You're killing my buzz, man."

Belle looked between the two of them: Hook with the puppy-eyes, silently pleading, Please, please, please?; Tink with the stern look, poising the pitcher over her glass. She sighed heavily. "Fine," she droned as Hook and Tink elbowed each other, smiling triumphantly. "I'll be a drunk bitch with you guys."

"So…" Neal drummed his hands on the steering wheel. "You and Violet, huh?"

"Oh, my God—" Henry covered his eyes with his hands, groaning. "Are we seriously going to talk about this?"

"Just thought I'd offer," he shrugged. "Give you some advice on how to handle girls, or something."

"Right, 'cause you're the…" Henry muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, what was that?" Neal frowned, craning his neck. "I'm the what?"

"Nothing."

"No, no, no, tell me what you said."

Henry exhaled reluctantly. "I said, 'cause you're the relationship expert."

Relationship expert? Neal raised his eyebrows, looking at Henry in surprise."I'm the relationship expert?" he repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"…Okay."

He glanced over again: Henry was looking out the window with half-lidded eyes, his arms folded across his chest. Having spent the better part of two centuries as a teenaged kid, Neal was only too aware of what was probably going through Henry's mind: something moody and disgruntled with the lack of justice in this world, no doubt. Unless it was the ever-popular derision of how parents overreacted and tried to control him. Or the classic combination of, I'm-too-cool-for-this-shit and I'm-too-scared-to-say-something-that-will-REALLY-get-me-in-trouble.

Neal tapped his fingers listlessly as he waited for the red light to change. "Henry," he said carefully. "I know you think you're being unfairly treated, but your moms are just trying to do what they think is best, okay?"

"Mmm-hmm," Henry said, with the air of someone who's heard the same thing a million times over.

"They don't want to see you grow up, so they're being clingy right now…You gotta give them time to get used to it."

"Mmm-hmm."

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Neal exhaled slowly. This is what he'd been dreading: Henry passing him off, seeing him as nothing more than yet another authority figure intent on ruining his young life. He was so tempted to just say, "Okay, Henry, I won't tell your moms, go out with your girlfriend", but that just wasn't an option. He wasn't going to let a fifteen-year-old kid intimidate him into disobeying Regina. Neal was many things: a bit of rule-breaker, a bit of a people-pleaser, and yes, immature enough to almost encourage parental rebellion—but stupid wasn't one of them.

"Look, I'm not going to spy on your phone to make sure you're not texting Violet, but…" he glanced at Henry, giving a little shrug. "Could you not?"

Henry flicked his eyes upward, scoffing. "Whatever."

"No, it's not whatever, Henry. I'm trusting you here, so you better show me I'm not making a mistake." Neal looked over, frowning when Henry didn't respond. "Hey."

Henry exhaled heavily. "What?"

"Don't go texting Violet, okay? I don't want to take your phone away."

"This is stupid," Henry muttered, looking out the window.

"Yeah, well….I told your mom I'd enforce their rules, so don't think you can get away with anything just because it's me." Neal tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling extremely uncomfortable taking the "strict parent" role. Regina was a million times better at this: doing what needed to be done, when it came to disciplining Henry. Maybe because she'd dealt with him on her own for ten years; maybe because she was a queen and it all came second nature to her; or maybe, she was just good at it. When he'd first met Henry, that had been Neal's greatest fear: that by nature, he just wouldn't be good at the whole parent-thing. And even after nearly three years of proving himself to be a halfway decent father, he still worried that saying or doing the wrong thing was going to make Henry hate him.

But he wasn't going to be intimidated by a fifteen-year-old kid, damn it.

"So are you going to be this delightful all evening or is this just for me?"

Henry spared him a disparaging look before turning his eyes back to the window.

"Look, Henry, I'm not saying I have a problem with Violet, but I'm not the only parent involved here, so there's not a whole lot I can do."

"Can't you talk to them?" Henry asked. "Tell them they're being stupid? Tell them I'm not going to do anything?"

"Kid…" Neal sighed, shaking his head. "Nobody thought you were going to bring a guy back from the dead, either. You're just—you're a little unpredictable, okay? I mean, ten years old and you run off to Boston to find Emma. Twelve years old, and you're helping Peter Pan take over the world. Fifteen years old, and you're raising the dead. That kind of wild streak—i-it's a little worrying, you know?"

Henry scoffed, throwing his head back. "Stupid…"

"Well, that's very mature, Henry, thank you," Neal said sarcastically. "You're doing a wonderful job of convincing me to talk to the other two about the Violet-situation."

"There's not even a situation!" Henry said frustratedly. "We're barely more than friends! I mean, my God, could you people overreact a little more? Could you please?"

"Oh, you want me to overreact? Fine. Fine, I can overreact." Neal cleared his throat. "I think it's time to give you a lecture on exactly everything that can go wrong when you're interested in a girl. For example—and this is just spit-balling here—" he shrugged, waving his hand—"but I've heard of situations where the guy and the girl live in a car together and rip off convenience stores and it's all well and good until he gets her pregnant and everybody dies. Yep," he said, nodding as Henry shot him a disbelieving look. "How's that for overreaction, hmm? But hang on, I got more…"

They were thoroughly drunk now. Hook and Tink were laughing hysterically, slopping their drinks over themselves, clinging to each other to keep from toppling off the couch; Belle kept snorting into her drink, spraying strawberry daiquiri everywhere.

"Okay, okay," she choked, gasping for air. "Weirdest place you ever did it. Go."

"Um—" Hook wiped a tear from his eye, still shaking with laughter. "Weirdest place for me was probably…the clocktower."

"Oh, come on!" Tink said. "Three hundred years, and that's the best you got? The clocktower?"

"I was inside a bloody clock!" Hook laughed. "That's weird!"

"You got something better, Tink?" Belle asked, nudging her with her toe.

"Pantry of the nuns' kitchen with the stockroom guy," she said promptly.

"Please!" Hook scoffed. "Mine is way better!"

"There were a lot of potatoes around," Tink shrugged. "It made for a very strange atmosphere. And he had a bowtie and tiny mustache, so it was already weird. Plus, nuns. They were, like, right outside."

"I still say, mine is better," Hook declared. "There were gears and all this metal rubbish laying around; and then it's on that little balcony-thing, and you can see all the numbers and ticks on the clock face—"

"Hey!"

All three of them turned around, looking toward the stairs at the sound of Rumple's voice. He was wearing his ratty old bathrobe and his hair was disheveled, but he looked extremely awake—not to mention, judge-y—as he frowned down at them.

"What's the matter with you, Grumplestiltskin?" Hook slurred, pointing a finger at him.

"What's the matter with me?" Rumple slowly thumped down the steps, glaring at them. "I'm trying to sleep. I'm trying to get my full twelve hours here, but you three are being too loud and disruptive. And your stories are so disturbing, I'm too afraid to even keep my eyes shut."

"Hey, where's that sexy son of yours?" Tink said, grabbing his arm as he passed the couch. "I just like to look at his face, where's his face?"

"With Henry," Rumple said, jerking his arm away. "And don't talk about him like that in front of me."

"Then tell him to stop being so goddamn sexy!" Tink called after him as he strode off for the kitchen. "Hey, Belle, how about a refill?"

"Ooh, me, too! Me, too!" Hook chimed, holding out his glass.

"None left," Belle said, nodding toward the empty pitcher. "We'll have to make another batch."

"I'll do it," Tink said, getting up from the couch. "I mix drinks better than either of you bitches."

"Don't bother Rumple about Neal," Belle warned her. "Just let him eat his cereal in peace."

"I will, I will…" Tink waved her hand dismissively over her shoulder as she walked off toward the kitchen, pitcher in hand. Hook waited until she disappeared through the door, and turned to Belle with a conspiratorial smile, shaking his head.

"Rumple is going to be so damaged…"

"He's already damaged," Belle said, chasing the last drops of her drink with her straw. "Doubt there's much more she could do to him, besides make him extremely uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but she's drunk, and now she's got her head filled with all these crazy sex ideas," Hook grinned. "Her mouth is going to be going off, and he is going to be so miserable."

"And that pleases you," Belle said, raising her eyebrows.

"It does," he beamed. "It really does."

He looked down at his glass, smiling sadly at the emptiness with a soft, "Hmph", and turned back to Belle. "So, listen—I'm seriously thinking about getting Robin to set up Tink and Will. You think she'd go for that?"

"You heard what she said," Belle said, stretching out her legs over Tink's vacant seat. "She's done that."

"No, that's not what I meant," Hook said, shaking his head. "I mean, like a proper boyfriend. I think they'd be good together."

"Boyfriend?" she snorted. "Tink?"

"Well, it might get her to stop bothering Neal, poor bastard."

Belle raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You've got a girlfriend, and you still bother Regina."

"Yeah, but that's different," he said impatiently. "It's customary for me to hit on her, and then her to threaten me—it's how we communicate."

"I don't know…Tink's not really the boyfriend-type."

"How do you know? She's never had one, has she?" Hook nudged her shoulder with his shoe. "I'm gonna do it, okay?"

"Do what you want," she shrugged, trying to nudge him back (but alas! her legs were too short!). Hook snorted at her pathetic attempt.

"You're so tiny."

"Yeah, but I'm adorable."

"You are adorable," he sighed. "I'll give you that."

There was a crash in the kitchen, and the door suddenly burst open. Belle and Hook twisted around in alarm as Rumple zoomed past them, racing up the stairs; they turned to each other with wide eyes.

"What was that?"

"I don't know." Hook sat up, raising his eyebrows as Tink walked into the room, pitcher in hand. "Hey, you—what'd you say?"

Tink shrugged, kicking aside their legs so she could sit down. "I just described a certain fantasy of mine. Maybe went a little overboard on the details, but I don't think that warrants dropping a perfectly good bowl of cereal on the floor and running out of the room. Hey, that reminds me—" she jutted her chin at Belle—"there's a mess in your kitchen."

Belle closed her eyes exasperatedly. "Goddamn it, Tink," she said, getting up. "What did I tell you about describing your fantasies in front of people?"

"Not to do it?" Tink lifted her glass, considering it blearily. "Should I have some more?"

"Probably not," Hook grinned, pouring himself another glass. "But who cares? Drink up, you little pervert!"

"You big slut!" Tink laughed, clinking her glass against his.

Whale stirred at the sound of the door creaking open. He had fallen asleep on the couch, a half-eaten Lean Cuisine at his side; the T.V. still going. Graham was moving around in the kitchen: the fridge opened, a bottle clinked, a chair scraped against the floor.

Here we go, Whale thought rubbing crumbs out of his eyes. He pushed himself up from the couch and sleepily stumbled into the kitchen, where Graham was sitting at the table with a bottle of scotch and a glass.

"Hey," Whale yawned. "How'd it go?"

"Uh…." Graham looked at his half-finished drink, tapping his fingers against the glass. "It was, uh…it was interesting."

"Oh, yeah?" Whale leaned against the doorframe with folded arms. "What happened?"

"Nothing much," Graham said, avoiding his gaze. "We grabbed some dinner, caught a movie, you know…stuff."

"How…was dinner?"

"Meh. It was from Granny's, so it was—okay, no, it was pretty gross."

"Ugh. How was the movie?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Whatever Christmas they have in theaters now. It was stupid."

Whale nodded slowly. "Anything else?" he said. "You seem a little preoccupied."

"Uh…" Graham shifted his eyes around awkwardly. "Something happened."

"Okay?"

"And I think—" Graham furrowed his brow—"I think Jefferson might be gay."

Whale raised his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"He tried to kiss me."

"Oh. Well, that'll do it."

"I'm so embarrassed," Graham groaned, putting his head in his hands. "I didn't realize it was supposed to be a date, I thought it was just…" He exhaled, and shook his head. "I must have looked like a complete idiot."

Whale cleared his throat nervously. "So, what happened?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too interested. "How, uh…how'd you get out of there?"

Graham sighed helplessly, rubbing his eyes. "We were sitting outside with our coffee, on this little bench-thing. Just talking, shooting the breeze, cracking a few jokes. Next thing I know, he's leaning in, and I was just thinking: 'Whoa! Wait a second, what's going on?' And so I'm just like, 'Oh, wow, Jeff, I'm sorry, I didn't realize—' and then blah, blah, blah, whatever I said, it was just a bunch of babbling. And he was really nice about it, he was just like, 'Oh, it's okay' and 'Oh, relax, Graham, it's not a big deal', but I still felt so stupid about it because—I mean, here I am with this guy, and I'm completely oblivious to him being attracted to me, and I'm just…" He groaned, covering his eyes again, and continued in a muffled voice. "I always do this—the oblivious thing. I did it to Ruby, and now I've done it to Jefferson, and those are only the ones I know of. Ugh! I'm such an asshole."

"Don't beat yourself up, you didn't know," Whale said, resisting the urge to pat his arm comfortingly (everything just seemed too sexually charged now—why did Graham have to walk around shirtless today? Why? Seriously, why?). "You're, like, the nicest person ever. No one's blaming you for not knowing."

"They should," Graham said miserably, lifting his head. "Vic…I don't know what to do. I feel like I've made things really awkward now."

Rock-hard abs, his mind said suddenly. Rock-hard abs! Rock-hard abs! "Yeah," Whale sighed. "You've definitely made things awkward now."