[For a moment, he looks surprised at that answer; it certainly wasn't what Booker was expecting. Despite everything, despite himself and all he's been through, it manages to eke the smallest chuckle out of him.]

I could've told you that from the five minutes I've known you.

[What a weird woman.

A hand comes up to scratch at the stubble on his face.] Regardless, I... well, it'd be remiss of me not to say I appreciate it, irregular or not. And I don't really need a bed; the sofa's comfortable enough for me. [He's slept in worse places.] I, uh, actually wouldn't mind washing up some first, though.

[He sounds vaguely hesitant to ask, like he's already encroaching on her hospitality. But god, he's covered in dirt and grime and sweat. And in some places, dried blood.]