His tongue swipes over his own teeth in contemplation of this concept, but not exactly hesitation; Deacon takes the card with a thin smile, turning it over between two fingers to catch the name and number written there. Cold blue attention switches back to Ivan, that smile becoming a little more crooked, scarred eyebrow raising.

"I'll try hard," he promises, sliding the card into a pocket inside his jacket. "You know where to find me. Obviously."