Ravi lets out a pained little sound of protest in the back of his throat when Major lifts the hand the slightest inch, squeezing one eye shut as hard as he can and only breathing out the pinched press of relief from the weight on his chest when he realizes that he's not about to see Major in any compromising situations that might require obscene amounts of vodka to bleach from his mind. "No one could possibly body shame you, you're Michelangelo's dream model," is his heavy, sarcastic reply.

"Not that I want to be the one looking," he adds sharply. "And I am more than content to say that I am blameless in this," he insists, gesturing to the mess of papers around him, not to mention the half-full mug of tea that's lukewarm by now. "See? I haven't moved in the last hour. Also, are you really telling me that I'm the only suspect? Mr. No Body Shame? Maybe some eager female saw an opportunity?" Ravi feels compelled to point out.