Pause. Socialization and, well, modernization of things were leaving him way out of clues. "I'm not angling for talking with one." Brief, though it wasn't bitten off or otherwise unpleasant. He didn't need to explain that he'd gotten confused, she figured it out on her own, and it was one of the good things, about. This. Her. The situation, from their first conversation onward.

After a moment, he did remember to add, "thank you."

His eyes scanned what was visible of the apartment, taking in the details, but he interpreted a very different set of information (he would remember, and, perhaps, eventually would find significance in these details). Lines of sight. Vulnerabilities. Exits. Areas where he would be completely out of sight, despite the openness of the place.

When he was satisfied with his analysis, he slipped into one of those spots and... of all things, took an elastic band out of his pocket and tied his hair back. It wasn't a good disguise, but it did help in obscuring his face, for low-quality surveillance cameras. Yes, he was giving her clues. No, it wasn't by chance.

Then he looked at her again, the hesitation caused by the sight far shorter than at the first glance. "Not many people actually come here, do they." Not nobody. But not many, at least that was his conclusion - being wrong wouldn't be the first time. Not even the first time for the evening.