The tiniest bit of tension he had slowly eases at that. He really doesn’t want a curse anytime soon. But he does feel like everything they say has a certain weight to it. Like he needs to be careful of what he says even if he isn’t entirely sure why. Words are important. Meaning is important. Maybe it’s just a habit after years or trying to figure out what he wants to say versus what he should say. Everything has always be a double edged sword in his case.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not be cute,” he admits after a moment. “Even when you basically warned me off of Lennon.”

His eyes dart around a bit; tiny antlers, sharp nose, pretty mouth, and eyes that feel like they see more than they should—- “…why are you nice to me?”