[ Momo's running on half-batteries right now; it shows. He's a little rumpled, folded and creased like a napkin used and reused between meals— when he smiles, it's with a tinge of fatigue that angles his brows just enough that he looks troubled.

Still, he grapples with the edge of his window and pulls it up to let the cold air in. Chin angled, he sighs. "What am I gonna do with you?" ]

What? Oh, come on. You don't think I'm that mean, do you?

[ Ironically, asking that question is a little 'mean' of Momo. He seems to realize it, because he switches gears. ]

—Come in! It's the least I can do for you, since I definitely wasn't expecting a present...!