Knowing the other like he did, he didn't miss the sudden wetness in his eyes. It was such an odd thing on a Kingsman's face that it stood out like a sore thumb. But like a proper gentleman he didn't speak of it, didn't ask what was wrong since he could probably guess. It wasn't a conversation for public ears, anyways. They could talk about it in private, later maybe, but not here. Otherwise he might loose it too. He already had before composing himself, which he still didn't feel bad about.

Though to be honest, he wouldn't know what to do with Harry if he was in hysterics. He barely had known what to do when the other was angry at him, disappointed. It had felt crushing, leaving a hollow place in his chest, a feeling he thought he'd long ago become immune to.

"With a look from twenty years ago," he countered. "You did see the wallpaper you chose, didn't you? Who chooses wallpaper anymore?" He took his scotch and raised it up slightly, holding it out to him to toast. "Cheers," he agreed, clinking before tossing the scotch back, giving his eyes a reason to burn at the edges.

"Have you looked where you're living yet?" he asked, setting his glass down.