Inigo would whine more at Roland's continued pinching of his cheeks, but something stops him. The other's words, more specifically. It's said almost casually, like it's just a normal thing to say, but-- I think I could have juggled both of you.

Does Roland really mean that? Inigo can't help but worry he's reading too much into it, but just those words are enough to warm his heart. Just the thought of Roland including him so naturally with his actual son, his biological one. The one he's known for much longer than the kid he only met on the train a few months ago. Like Inigo really is part of Roland's ideal fantasy of having a renewed life back home.

He's entirely unable to put his appreciation for it in words though, so instead it only transfers to a blush on Inigo's cheeks as he speaks up again.

"Puppet theatre? Don't you think I'm a little too old for that now, father?"

See, now it's easy to assume the blush is just since he's embarrassed about that, and not because he's incredibly touched. Nailed it.

"I-- I mean, I did it a few times with Owain, but that was just since there weren't many better ways to entertain the young children!" You know, in the middle of a post-apocalyptic hellscape where everyone was slowly dying and turning into zombies.