When she catches him not looking at her, she grins at the compliment.

And if he notices it before it fades from her face, it's okay with her, but she takes the opportunity to look away from him so she won't know.

As she steps inside, her eyes sweep the room with interest. It's not significantly different from the room she woke up in, but they're not entirely the same.

Different colors, slightly different arrangement. But this room smells different, feels different. If she walked into his bathroom, she knows she wouldn't find the nearly countless colorful bottles and jars and tubes of makeup and cremes and masks and scrubs and soaps that she found in her own.