There's something about the way people say his name, and inevitably it is never in ways that are good. One way or another, they make his gut tighten, wanting to hunch his shoulders up against what is to come.

And yet he manages to remain quiet, to not immediately chatter, to interrupt and distract. Though he wants to. God above and below, he wants to. Anything to not think about the sourness on the back of his tongue, and the uneasy settling like a weight on his shoulders.

"Ironically it seems you were doing as I should and don't," he says, smiling a tight, wry smile. Aching to draw his hood up, to find escape somewhere that he doesn't have to think about making a fool of himself. He rarely acted on the fear of that, but in that moment he is acutely aware of it.

"It won't be mentioned again though. I apologize."