Quatre hasn't relaxed at all, smile or not.

Trowa sips his tea carefully. It's good, and almost too hot; warmth spreads down his throat when he swallows.

He's not sure if he wants to ask for more information or not. He wants to know, but he wants to really know what happened, and not just chase the trail of someone else's words in endless circles. But right now those words are all he can find.