He doesn’t have to wonder to be sure anymore. It’s reality. Fact. He doesn’t have any other friends anymore. Not on Earth anyway. But that’s what happens when you’re on Interpol’s most wanted. Rather than remarking further on it, only a soft nod follows as she continues speaking. Making a stink of it doesn’t really matter here, even as much as it aches to think and reminds him of how weary his body has grown despite the positivity he wears like skin.

At the mention of his having previously stayed with her, his brows raise, wondering what she could even know that he is now unaware of. “Wait, what kinda habits we talkin’ here?” Because he’s pretty sure most of his habits are great, and even if he had some shitty ones before the war, they’re probably not really the same anymore now. “Cause, y’know, fixin’ my hair for way too long isn’t a thing anymore.”