Good. That’s — [there’s that goddamn smile again, which Hank stares at for a few seconds] — real good, Connor. Happy to hear it.

[He pats Connor’s shoulder before turning back to the painting. Nodding.

Life here, or anywhere, can’t always be this tolerable — pleasant, even — but sometimes. Sometimes.]

And... shit. [Hank reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out the spare apartment key. Offering it to Connor.] See? I didn’t forget. Taking your list seriously.