'Fucking honest.' Well, that's not something people ask Rust for very often. Instinct of interest has him looking for Will's face again, because now he's starting to put things together. Rust knows that Will has worked a case before involving, apparently, Soul Mates -- so this can't be the shock of victims in a case. No, this has got him all rattled.

Rust doesn't take steps outside of thinking within reason, not without more information to work on, but he wonders if he can guess where this is going. He licks his lips, shifting his mouth before it can go completely dry.

"What it could mean," Rust parrots, tone even, before he knocks back the last of his whiskey. There's a soft growl as he exhales on the tail-end of the swallow. "It's a cruel fuckin' joke, played on us by the universe."

Soul Mates. His eyes slide closed even as he grabs for the bottle of Turkey. "Simultaneously teasing you with too much information, and not enough. Okay, here y' go: here's your receipt for a white picket fence and dog in the front yard. You want it so bad? Good fucking luck findin' them 'fore you die."

The venom in Rust's voice is clear, even staining his face as he scowls over at Will when he returns the bottle to the table, his glass freshly refilled. "Or on the flip side of the coin, you've got yourself all tied up in a cosmic shotgun marriage, arranged by some other-worldy parentage that has done fuck-all for you thus far...and you get to spend your whole life wondering which one it's gonna be, how you're gonna reconcile every relationship you ever have, wondering if they're 'marked' same as you...

"T' hell with that, man." Rust clears half his glass with the next gulp.