For a heartbeat's worth of time he looks wry, accepting having been busted on that real-world impulse. Somewhere in there is a sense of humor.

Before answering, he looks at the slip of paper and commits the number to memory with ease; it might seem like a feat to remember something like that out of a dream, but for him it's fine - or at least, he seems to think it'll be fine. Some people find this man impressive, some people find him insufferably cocky. Benji's free to make her own call.

"This high up?" Somewhere in the well of his voice, dry from the cold, there's that wry humor again. "It's never warm."

Fondness, too.