Credence is watching Graves like a hawk. He tries not to show it, of course, but he's fixated on two main points: Graves' brow and Graves' jaw. His posture is the same, careful and poised, and Credence knows enough to know he doesn't stiffen when he's upset.

He's never seen Graves upset, not truly, but he's sure if he did his brow would knit differently, or raise, and right now they're neutral. He's sure that his strong, broad jaw would tighten, just a little. It doesn't.

Credence is safe. It's not just Graves--Credence does this with everyone, and it's something he will do time and time again: if he steps out of line, if he knows and consciously makes that decision, he watches. Even if he's aware that Graves won't hit him; Graves won't ever hit him. Graves has been one of his closest acquaintances here. Credence finds himself considering him a friend, even if it's in a not quite traditional way.

This is not the man who slapped him, no, but he's still lived a life of constantly assessing other people's anger. This is no exception.

He's not admonished, but the line has been firmly set. Credence has crossed it, and Graves not mentioning it is all the reprimanding he needs. He bows his head, pliable, but tucks this away for later. Graves is a private man. Graves will show no fault, even if others can see it. Graves will not acknowledge it.

He wonders if it's because if he acknowledges it to others, he has to face it himself.

"I--I'm sure they're fine," he mumbles, and he retreats into himself. Not because of what he's said previously, but because a change is needed. Credence is self-conscious, an anxious mess that knows his body is just as ugly outside as it is in.

"I'd like to try to do them myself, at the very least..."