Desmond baulked at the date at first, his mind latching onto the numbers and not the words that followed at first. "8-2-" he started to repeat, and then realised his error. "Helpful, aye," he smirked, sarcasm just dripping from his words. He pulled his sleeve away, grimacing a little as he saw it thick with blood. He wasn't meant to lose so much, but at least it seemed to have stopped for now.
"Eh..." he had to think about this one. He wasn't sure that there was any way to explain it that didn't sound creepy as hell. "She's... important," he told him, although he knew it wasn't going to be enough. "She's my constant," he added, as if that was meant to make things clear.