Most of the tension rushes back out of him at that light touch, the music seeming louder again, the bass in his bones. Up until this very particular exchange, he'd have put money that she was as likely to throttle him as anything else.

"Depends on if we're counting the couple of years I spent in an alternate timeline," he answers, again sticking to honesty. "Six years if you don't, eight if you do. I go with eight, and mostly try not to think about how that isn't going to add up right if we ever ended up back in the right place and time."

Luther lets out a slow breath, the music gone out of him even if he's relaxed again. "I'm going outside, if you-- if you wanna--"