He's more than happy to oblige with the no talking about roommates, even if he's glad to hear verbal confirmation that Carla Jean doesn't want to murder him. Tattoos, though, that's always a subject he can get on board with. "What, these?" he asks, lifting his head up a little to glance down at himself before plopping it back on the mattress. "They're mostly older. Y'know, whole rebellious I-don't-want-to-be-a-stereotypical-genius-scientist phase, the usual. Got some Godzilla, some Mothra going on." He points them out easily as he speaks, having long since memorized the position of all the art displayed on his body--and yeah, maybe they come off as a little dorky to a lot of people, they're still near and dear to him. Godzilla and Mothra, man, come on, the entire reason he fell in love with monster movies in the first place. It had only seemed right. Every single one had hurt like a bitch but every single one had also been worth the external expression of what has made him him for more than three decades.

He likes having her draped over him and he runs a hand through her hair, playing with the ends as he places a kiss at the top of her head. "Don't laugh at the dinosaurs, though, okay? You know how much I love them. Almost as much as I love you."