He turns back away from her, narrowing his eyes but pretending to be very interested in a dusty old globe. He's momentarily distracted when he wonders where on this globe Darrow would fall, if it would even fall on it at all. Oh, but right, manic bullshit and all that. He remembers hacking into the PPDC system to see his file, remembers seeing the long list of reasons why he'd been marked as "borderline," whatever that even means: displays signs of grandiose notions, increased talking speed and volume, inappropriate social behavior (which Newt is still convinced had been referring to his invested interest in the kaiju), inappropriate irritability, increased energy, poor judgment, severe insomnia... Hermann had caught him peeking and had shrugged like he'd agreed, and that had set Newt off all over again.

"I mean, yeah, so sometimes after a nasty fight with my lab partner or like, a rough meeting with my boss, I'd get into a little bit of a funk, but it wasn't depression." He's feeling tense now, and it's not because of her, he doesn't mind talking about it with her. Not that there's anything to talk about because he rejects the idea that he's borderline anything but awesome, but whatever. Then she's kissing him on the cheek and telling him she doesn't care, like none of it matters, and the tension's leaving his shoulders because she likes him and that's what matters.

"No dolls. No music box. Roger that." He points at a set of bongos and holy shit, what are the odds that this place has bongos? Stoked. "That's a solid yes, though. If you're not good with those, ooh, I don't even know how this is going to work." He winks, nudging her with his elbow. "Thanks, though. Really."