There’s a twinge at the sound of his name, barely there -- tension tuning fine through the hollow of his cheek. He lifts his thumb out, fans his fingers from the light touch of their grasp.

Still held, of course.

“I won’t undermine our previous agreement while you’re away.”

He looks up and the blue to his eyes is as autumn crisp as it is distinctly (cordially) unhappy about his having to say so.

“I swear it.”

A broad stroke agreement to do ‘nothing’ is not on the table.