Malcolm couldn't help but let out a small chuckle as she mentioned that this was her eighth home. "Eight?" He started. He had given a shrug and a shake of his head, but it was invisible behind that barrier. Noting that most of the effect of speaking was lost while he was obscured, he stepped into the divide and leaned against the wall so you could see him.

"That's not so bad. This is my sixth. Sometimes, things don't work out." He gave a shrug before you turned to him, your emphatic movements quieting him down as you snapped and pushed at him. His face betrayed the slight pain he felt when you elected to shove him away, but only a for a brief moment as it fell into his neutral half-smile.

There was another long silence -- a recurring theme in this new sibling relationship, he noted -- as he decided what to do and say. He searched for any diplomatic way of handling this before settling on his age-old fallback.

"Well, if that's what you want, don't let me interfere." He shrugged and slipped his thumbs in his pockets as he pushed himself up off of the wall. "Do what you want, live how you want, none of my business. If you need a listening ear, I'm always available." He turned and headed for the door of the bedroom before pausing and looking back at you. "...try to pretend to be friendly, though. Keep up appearances. We are brother and sister after all; people will start to notice if we don't get along. It could lead to a fair amount of headache." He shrugged. "I'm heading downstairs. Dinner should be ready any time now." With that, and with nary a moment for you to formulate a response, slipped outside and closed the door.

In the brief period where he was in the hallway out of sight, he let his expression briefly change to that of anger as he performed his overanalysis of the situation. It took time, but eventually he shrugged it off and trudged downstairs.