A drink at the bar.
Gwaine waved Summer over, a smile on his lips. “Sum! Let me buy you a drink, what are you having?” He asked, smiling.
She tapped him on the top of the head. “Don’t call me that. Mead.”
He chuckled softly, throwing an arm around her. “You love it.” He turned to the barman. “A mead for the lady.”
“I will cut you,” she threatened. “Don’t call me that, Gwaine.”