[It's fine, Atem thinks. The misunderstanding's been cleared up. He's probably embarrassed her, which is regrettable, but he wasn't impolite, and there's no reason to make anything else out of this.
She's interested, though, he notes. Very interested. It brings something to the surface that isn't usually there, that he'd only felt before at the gala -- a hot, feverish sort of protectiveness, an ache in the chest and the jaw.
His hand slides up Ryou's palm, his fingers slipping over and around Ryou's wrist.
Nothing about this is platonic.
But rather than accuse Ryou of misrepresenting the situation, Atem says:]
You're nervous.
[The hand at Ryou's wrist is just resting there, not gripping it or pulling it. He can feel the pulse, even through the fur.]
no subject
She's interested, though, he notes. Very interested. It brings something to the surface that isn't usually there, that he'd only felt before at the gala -- a hot, feverish sort of protectiveness, an ache in the chest and the jaw.
His hand slides up Ryou's palm, his fingers slipping over and around Ryou's wrist.
Nothing about this is platonic.
But rather than accuse Ryou of misrepresenting the situation, Atem says:]
You're nervous.
[The hand at Ryou's wrist is just resting there, not gripping it or pulling it. He can feel the pulse, even through the fur.]
Are you all right...?