Matthias can take teasing, and can give as good as he gets. He can weather laughter, though he prefers it to be with, and not at, no matter how good-natured and wry it is. Still reminds him of being expected to act a trick dog with mages older than him. A mascot, but one determined to elbow into the inner circle and speak for the kids, and put off the laughter.

But his sincerity is still his downfall, a soft spot to press a finger to and make him flinch. He flinches now, at first--and color flushes his face, spreads from the ears down, and makes him feel hot all over. Stupid. It's not that she thinks him stupid, she clears that up a moment later--holding back the true compliment, couching it with wryness--so that's good, but. Still. Matthias scowls, a little, and scrubs at his face with his shirtsleeve, like he can wipe off his embarrassment, and the redness that is making his cheeks practically glow.

"Oh," he says, sarcastically, his one shield against the horror that he's feeling, "thanks ever so. Glad I proved myself. Look, it's not," but what is it not; he swallows the words and looks into the fire. "I didn't mean it like wisdom. Or like--something you'd not thought of before. I don't want to lecture, I'm only saying. Heard it from someone else anyways." --all of it trailed off by the end, falling to muttering.