You don't need to share anything. You don't owe me anything of the sort. I am merely... concerned for Yulia. In the, I don't doubt you could make her happy, because you're both crazy. But I want it to actually happen, you see.

[You know what he means. Yulia Bostova, the perpetual emotional signal dead space.

He lights a cigarette, then lets out a long, thoughtful exhale. Then pins you with a Look.]

Of course, you could just, I suppose, tell me it's none of my business. I'll stop asking if you want me to.

[It won't mean that he'll be pleased to be shut down, but private matters are private matters.]