[ As Anders steps away, he finds himself missing the contact a little bit. Maybe it was just the normal human reaction, to miss physical contact. Or the relief he'd felt had transferred over to associate with the feeling of gentle hands. Whatever the case, he tries to keep his disappointment to himself, dropping the shirt back down and smoothing it. Not that it really matters, but the motion is habitual. ]
Do you now? What sort of bone– don't tell me you're going to mother hen them.
[ It's teasing as he steps in the direction they're supposed to be headed. ]
no subject
Do you now? What sort of bone– don't tell me you're going to mother hen them.
[ It's teasing as he steps in the direction they're supposed to be headed. ]