He can feel He Ming sway into his space every few steps. His presence is an itch at the back of Malcolm's neck and the inside of his throat, filling him again that strange knowing he gets every once in a while.

Malcolm isn't an idiot, and He Ming isn't quite as subtle as he'd like to be, but in the end it's more flattering than uncomfortable that his younger neighbor seems to like him. Even so, his steady stride falters at the questions, and when Malcolm steadies himself a second later his steps are shorter, slower.

"Sure," he says, sounding surprised. It's an automatic answer, mostly out of politeness. Malcolm takes a sip of his watery drink, a bemused sort of furrow in between his eyebrows as he looks He Ming over. "It takes a while to get used to an empty house. Doin' alright?"