He doesn't reply to the comment regarding how pale he is, instead he just simply smiles in a half-hearted response, because being whatever it is that Jongdae was, he was hardly one to talk about pallid skin. Instead he lets his mind wander for a brief moment of which Minseok spends getting himself comfortable and Jongdae imagines what kind of snow Minseok would be. Ordinarily it would be the soft, thin flakes that catch in hair and settles quickly but right now, Minseok seems like the epitome of slick snow, grey and glazed from being trodden in too much. He hopes the boy will revert back to his fluffy state once awake. He doesn't reply to the following question, either, instead pretending to busy himself with pulling on his seatbelt, however unnecessary it may be for him. He isn't ready to admit to Minseok that he doesn't have a destination on hand, and was in fact hoping one would present itself someway along the road.
On the other hand, he took immediate offense to the chiding of his car. As old-a-relic as it was, Jongdae had an uncanny fondness of it; it was plain and simple on the interior and not a wholly unlike Jongdae himself, and without a doubt it always got him where he needed it to. "Don't talk ill of her," he rebukes quickly with a scornful pout, but after a quick pause he catches himself, and haughtily adds; "she's too classy for that - although, if you should wish to don a hula girl skirt and bobble about on my dash, I shan't object." He throws a mocking grin towards his companion, somewhat pleased that he's talking and his humour appears to be vaguely in tact, surprised by the burst of energy despite the apparent lack of morning spirit. "Besides, I'd never take baby street racing," he continues, eyes on the road as he speaks, pondering on whether or not street racing would be something he'd actively indulge in. He has a stringy kind of nebulous memory of racing about in a battered, badly adapted thing in the 60's, but it's silently followed by the sneaking memory of racing on horseback when, if he fell, grazes and bruises would remain bloody and intact for several days and it would be his brother who would help him up. Those memories are startling clear and he pushes them aside assiduously. "I'd definitely win, though," he adds cockily once he's pulled himself free of his reverie.
By now the engine had reawoken, and Minseok's cosy street was beginning to drift past the frost-hazed windows at an ambling crawl. He readily clicks the heating on and that joins with the quiet hum of the car, filling Minseok's side with a buzzing warmth that he hopes won't send him back into the sluggishness of a tiresome and sleepy morning. He doesn't tell Minseok that there are blankets tucked up on the back seat, because although he offered, he doesn't really want his friend to go back to sleep yet, thirsty for the companionship of simple conversation - something he's been lacking all too much as of late. "Wedding? Who's getting married? El Dorado I believe is somewhere off of the shores of Mexico, this is of course not because I recently watched 'The Road to El Dorado', the girlfriend is fine, probably, I haven't seen her for a while, but she's usually fine. The pets are, likewise, perfectly well thank you for asking," he shifts in his seat, glancing over at Minseok with a trace of a polite smile, "and how about you? How are you? How's the sister? How's the store?"
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