He supposes he's been broody with her a great number of times, gotten himself liquored up and curled up in her bed or his and wasted some days away being sad about this or that. That brutal week after Lana's departure, or when he'd fucked it up with Cristina again, or something-something-something with Lucrezia. She knows the broad strokes of his life, which seems superficial and yet is still vastly more than most people are privy to.

"I know you do," he says, a little amused. "I love that about you, too."