magnus chase had one love in his life-- fadlan's falafel shop. amir, the guy who worked at the branch was a great guy who'd helped magnus out quite a lot when he had lived on the streets, or rather, before his death, brought about in simple terms, by flipping off surt.

when in midgard, he had one love in his life, his favorite comfort food. and you, he supposed. he didn't directly stress the connotation that sitting down in the food court of the boston transportation centre was a date; to be frank it probably wasn't even an implication, as the two of you had spent your afternoon dodging near death downtown under the chase of a few of loki's wolves. girthy, rabid wolves with runes carved into their fur was not exactly a mood setter.

he took a sip of lemonade, wincing as it came in contact with the cut on his lip before shrugging as if it hadn't just thrown him off his tangential story about the last time he was here-- or perhaps it was you looking at him that was throwing him off. "you ever seen an eagle eat falafel? that horrifying image now haunts my nightmares." he explained, the demigod son of frey idly combing his fingers through his shaggy blond hair.

"--i'm telling you, faster than I could blink, he went ahead, vacuuming up everything but a single wedge of pickle."