"So," Yunlan says, lemon-scented furniture polish in one hand and rag in the other, looking at B with a twist at the corner of his mouth. "I don't actually know how to do this. Tips?"

He's not in a good mood, but he's been -- not-quite-hiding it himself. His usual insouciant smile is missing, and even if he keeps his expressions mostly neutral, there's a storm brewing somewhere deep in his gaze.

He's also emphatically refusing to participate in singalongs. At least B's music tastes are better than that.