[L stiffens, guarded. He's unaccustomed, after all, to earning laughter that isn't ridiculing or mean-spirited in nature. The jaunty, satisfied little win of a joke well-landed is a feat he's accomplished enough times to count on one hand... and this time, he's not entirely in on the joke, he thinks. Maybe the prettiness is just a veneer over what he is used to, the same familiar creature coming to him in a different guise.]

I prefer the truth, however it happens to look under sunlight. We're often at-odds because John's prefers his truths in the dark, packed in ice. Shame is like that for proud men.