There's a tension that relaxes when Skulduggery seems to drop the subject without argument. She's genuinely relieved that she isn't going to have to bicker her way out of a scolding, or that yet another fairly decent hang-out wasn't going to end in a bitter argument. Darcy presses her face into his shoulder, hoping that nobody would see or recognize her through the glass of the elevator. As if Skulduggery could've been carting some other boyish teenager around in his arms.

"Sure did," muffled through the fabric of his suit, "good talk."

And they didn't even need to go back and do more karaoke to avoid it.