She'd laughed — at him, or convivially? He wasn't sure. The expression that followed it didn't seem entirely optimistic, but it didn't last long before she started to blush at his question. Ford hadn't meant much by it; it had seemed a perfectly logical leap from what she'd said (agreement, plans, I want them to like me) that she was aiming to impress. There were plenty of perfectly innocent, unremarkable reasons someone might want to impress another person — but the blush on her cheeks made him wonder. Someone she wanted to impress, but that she was at least a little embarrassed to be forced to talk about. It seemed likely that Miss Chang had a crush, which — was fine, that was fine, because she was allowed to like whomever she pleased and Ford wasn't in love with her anyway so it wasn't as though he ought to care who she liked. It wasn't relevant, as she said.

Except it was relevant and he did care. Not that he was jealous, he didn't think — but he wanted to know what kind of person Miss Chang would be attracted to, for... purely academic reasons. Mere curiosity. It wasn't as though he was planning to do anything with that information. He just... needed to know.

How could he get her to tell him? She'd already demurred; would pressing her here work or only make her less likely to reveal it? He didn't know, but he didn't think it was worth the risk of trying and potentially making her shut down. Ford decided to take another short huff of the cigarette — at some point he had subconsciously decided that his demonstrable skill at smoking was tied to her impression of him, and he wanted to bolster it. "Of course it's relevant," he contended. "Good conversations aren't like an off the rack suit. They're tailored to the person they're meant for."

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