Impressive. She recalled his torrid, oftentimes rocky affair with the ghostly super-villain lover known only inscrutably as The White Russian. He let her questions skate across the icy landscape of his (fakely.) frozen mood, which boasted a kind of glorious detachment to the scene of his life's crimes, and somehow... an incomprehensible immersion within it, as if his inability to decide to be bitter or sweet wore obvious as neon pink in an 80's work out music video.
The most mischievous, yet fearless of smiles, scooted closer to the corner of his mouth.
"Honey's living with me because... well, that's a surprise, and surprising, the reason. You can keep a secret, can't you?" Of course, he knew the answer, in those blink-blinking eyes that seemed always to smile more than his willful mouth did. He'd reserve the tidbit for afterward of the second question, however. And he, in his all his at times stony and confident exterior, was blushed in his heart and happy at her little affection, opening up his palm to let her lace her fingers more into his. It was a lot different to have a friendlier gesture of holding than, well, the deliberate, non-friendly, 'naked time' prophecy of an urgent squeeze.
"I haven't talked to Roy 'cause I have no idea what apartment he's in. And honestly? This whole avoiding each other shit has become such a habit to me, I have no idea what I'd do to him if I saw his face unannounced. I'm fucking pissed. Noting that, what I'd do probably wouldn't be anything nice."
"P.S. I have to marry Honey or else I don't get the last part of my inheritance." with that, he swiped up his drink.