Grif has to think it over more. The fact that it is pineapple means Wash is going to some effort here.

On the one hand, fuck that. Grif wants to be left alone until he feels like he can successfully face the world and keep pretending it can't touch him. Wash doesn't just get to decide that they're going to talk, who the hell does he think he is?

But on the other, pizza. Possibly still warm.

The door slides open. Grif looks rough, he hasn't shaved in a couple of days. At least the fact his room is a trash heap isn't news to anyone and can't indicate how much he's been feeling like shit.

"Alright, fine," he says.