[ Oh, good! A reason to ignore Duo's seeing right through him. Though his smile hardly changes, the older Maxwell scoffs into his mug. There's a sharp edge to it, barely restrained, and when he sets his empty mug down on the counter there's a touch too much force to it. ]

Maybe I'd know you if you'd ever sent me a fuckin' postcard every now and then. Or, hell, a candy gram.

[ Typical.

But no, he isn't here to argue with these very real ghosts of his past. Maxwell isn't sure why he's here, actually, but he knows it's not fucking that. He's been ruining his relationships just fine for years without any interdimensional timey-wimey interference.

He pushes off from where he'd been leaning against the counter, waving behind him without looking back. ]

I'm goin' outside for a smoke. Have a pleasant breakfast, kids.