His hands stuffed in his pockets, Nathan watched Issac go, having been told to 'make himself at home'. Right, there was no need to stand on ceremony then. After a second of trying to be a good guest, Nathan started to wander, trailing his hands over carved wood, rifling through whatever he saw and liked. So this was the kind of person Issac was. It awed Nathan somehow, like he walked into church and needed to revere things with his hands. The wood felt smooth, worn down with exacting skill. Did Issac's hands make these? The same hands that typed on a keyboard all day? Nathan found himself so lost in his world of investigation that he didn't notice the other man reenter the room. The home was just so beautiful and his face showed it, just how much he liked what he saw.