Quatre's face falls briefly, before evening out. He's not doing so great, and isn't quite as good at hiding it as he will be.

"The same," he says, lightly. He gives Trowa a questioning glance, then takes the seat opposite when he realizes Trowa doesn't mind. "It's been two years, I think? Is -- your troop okay?"

Earth hasn't ever really been at peace, but Quatre is far more aware of the wars than he was last time they met.