“What?” I asked.
He sighed, “So you’re telling me if I made your favorite Mac and Cheese like I used to you wouldn’t like it?”
That stopped me, I’d never thought of that before. I’d mourned only very briefly over my loss of taste, I’d never been much of a connoisseur and there were so many new senses I was aware of now (thoughts, feelings) I’d thought it was a pretty fair trade. But my brother was right, I wouldn’t like his Mac and Cheese, and I regretted that. I’d loved his Mac and Cheese. “No,” I said apologetically, “I wouldn’t. But I’m sure it still tastes great.”
He sighed, “That doesn’t matter. I only ever made it for my little sister. What anyone else thought was irrelevant.”
I sighed, “Sorry, but I can read minds now.”
He chuckled, “Not mine.”
“Only when you’re actively protecting it,” I chuckled, “I’ve caught a few thoughts here and there. As long as I don’t attack you tend to drop your defenses a little.”
He laughed, but his mind solidified slightly so I could no longer ‘hear’ anything.