Kavinsky had glanced down, just as Lee looked up, and their eyes met for a moment. Kavinsky felt too raw, too honest and open and terribly sensitive, terribly aware of every nerve in his body, the ache in his hand, the sting in his eyes. Then Lee was looking away, anywhere but at his face. A shuddering breath rattled in his chest, wet and awful, that he tried desperately to turn into a laugh.

"Yeah," he breathed. And then, with a soft delay, "Thank you."

He wanted, desperately, to kiss Lee, to have Lee kiss him. But Lee had been pointedly avoiding it since this whole thing kicked off, and it seemed selfish to ask for it now. He fused a smile onto his lips, still touching Lee's head gently, running the edge of his nails just behind his ear.

"What can I do for you?"