[ There's a sentiment he can relate to, even if he would deny it. However much Michel supposedly loves his solitude, here he is yet again, avoiding the quiet of his own home to spend time with a virtual stranger who likes to bean him with strange objects — but who is, nonetheless, oddly pleasant company. ]

Your "brutally honest opinion" sounds like a fortune-teller. Or a horoscope.

[ Just vague enough that anyone could project their own meaning onto it. Nevermind that every single word cuts entirely too close to the mark. Michel splashes a tiny bit of water sidelong at Yael, barely achieving more than making a small wave; it's hard to feign indignation when he can't deny most of it without lying, and at least Yael isn't asking for confirmation or details. Despite the cutting analysis, he doesn't feel his defensive guard returning. ]

"Young"? And just how old are you meant to be, oh ancient sage?