[ He's always made it a habit not to wear anything on his hands or wrists past the protective gloves he dons for missions. Too much risk in case something gets snagged somewhere, or a loose thread gets caught in enemy hands. So it's weird now to see the leather cord hanging off his wrist, a complement to Dokja's own. Weird, but not in a bad way. There's a little bubble of something deep in his chest, bouncing between joy and possessiveness and devotion and relief.
But, like Dokja, he doesn't know how to put any of that into words. So he doesn't, and just continues along with the conversation at hand. One eyebrow raises, his voice turning dry. ]
Did you just realize that? You really don't notice anything, do you.
[ Kidding, kidding, he is just JOKING, please don't take it the wrong way. Just in case, he follows up the remark by sliding his fingers through Dokja's own before lifting up their joined hands to press a soft kiss against the other man's knuckles.
Sorry this isn't a back-of-the-hand kiss but beggars can't be choosers. ]
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But, like Dokja, he doesn't know how to put any of that into words. So he doesn't, and just continues along with the conversation at hand. One eyebrow raises, his voice turning dry. ]
Did you just realize that? You really don't notice anything, do you.
[ Kidding, kidding, he is just JOKING, please don't take it the wrong way. Just in case, he follows up the remark by sliding his fingers through Dokja's own before lifting up their joined hands to press a soft kiss against the other man's knuckles.
Sorry this isn't a back-of-the-hand kiss but beggars can't be choosers. ]
Like I said, I think about you a lot.
[ Dokja can interpret this however he wants. ]