Luc had secretly been hoping the door would never open. Not that that would have ultimately helped his situation of trying to get his bedroom off his to-do list, but it was just the first thought that came to mind as he stood there those few seconds dreading when it opened. It was a futile hope, but it somehow helped calm him down a little.
Until it actually did open, of course. That just sent an alien storm of butterflies fluttering loose.
Luc faltered for half a second as his eyes flicked down to Joaquin's lips, as it was like he could taste him all over again..
" - Hey," he found himself saying as if on reflex, meeting the brunet's eyes before moving past him into the apartment as casually as he could manage. He ended up doing better than he figured he would. Huh. Maybe that scotch really had helped. It sure didn't help with the wanting, though - but he'd gotten good at ignoring things like that anyway. "Don't worry about it. You're the one who's gotta live here," he smiled instinctively at the attempted jest, hoping it'd at least work somewhat at putting Joaquin more at ease. Hell, he'd take anything at that point.
With a dismissive wave of one hand, he looked around the space - not judgmentally, of course (Luc didn't consider it his place to judge anyone else in their living habits). Mostly appraising the different pieces of work he could see from where he was stopped to allow Joaquin to take the lead.
“It's good you caught me today,” he remarked, studying one particular landscape carefully before allowing himself to look at the other man again. “I'm busy all this week and into next – I don't know when I would've been able to come by before then.” A slight, helpless shrug. “Everyone's apparently wanting to get albums together for next year, hopefully before Christmas – some of them are dreaming, but who's gonna tell them, right?” He laughed a little and shoved his hands into his pockets, wanting to keep his long extremities as checked as possible, for fear of knocking something important of Joaquin's over.
Of course, he couldn't help the idle small talk. It was his best defense mechanism, after all – best of a mere few, but nevertheless. That, and drinking, but idle small talk was much healthier.