"You wanna?" He looks up a little slow, and there's dull surprise on his face. But something about gift horses and mouths; he shakes his head, smiling faintly. "I mean- sure, sure."

He sits down on the closed toilet, similarly sleek and minimalist, like everything in the apartment. Midnighter leans forward, somehow managing to loom despite being in a sitting position, his elbows on his knees. His head hangs from his shoulders, and his eyes are weary, but that little smile is still there.

"You can wake me up in the morning, but do it with a fucking broom handle or something. Computer's set to be a bastard when I'm below 73% efficiency, can't always override when I'm waking up with some missing ribs."