Startling. It's startling. Her anger makes him itch, feel like the weak kid she sees him as. Her breath is cloying, and he knows his own truth would have been more finely manufactured or omitted entirely without his breath to match. The answer to her question sits under his tongue, easy to offer up wet with gluhwein, but he rolls his eyes.

"Jesus Christ. Why? Call it a Tuesday." I've got it handled his tone says. "Come on. You even remember where the boarding house is?"