He shakes his head and carefully pulls the key from his pocket out to put it in the door, more surprised than one might expect that the door actually opens. He pushes it the rest of the way, beckoning Clary inside, only turning back to smile at her as they make their way into what is obviously an empty house.
"Clary Fray is a nice name," he notes before seeming to accept that this is a house, it's his, and there's nothing that's going to jump out at them or police that will come after them for entering where they don't belong.
Trying to be polite (to himself? He feels like someone's going to yell at him about his boots in the house), he pushes off his boots and carefully lines them up on the mat near the door. Then he takes off his gloves, revealing a left palm made almost entirely out of scar tissue that looks rather painful and raw. It's healed but clearly, not well. The coat comes next and he hangs it on the knob which... looks a little short for it, but he supposes that other people use the coat rack and most of them aren't nearly eight feet tall.
He turns to Clary.
"Join me looking around? Then we'll go to your house."
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"Clary Fray is a nice name," he notes before seeming to accept that this is a house, it's his, and there's nothing that's going to jump out at them or police that will come after them for entering where they don't belong.
Trying to be polite (to himself? He feels like someone's going to yell at him about his boots in the house), he pushes off his boots and carefully lines them up on the mat near the door. Then he takes off his gloves, revealing a left palm made almost entirely out of scar tissue that looks rather painful and raw. It's healed but clearly, not well. The coat comes next and he hangs it on the knob which... looks a little short for it, but he supposes that other people use the coat rack and most of them aren't nearly eight feet tall.
He turns to Clary.
"Join me looking around? Then we'll go to your house."