[It is not the response he had expected, but his reflexes do not fail him all the same.

One hand shoots upwards, gently catching against her wrist just before her hand can connect with his face, his fingers curling carefully against it as his expression softens into something apologetic behind his mask.

A step too far, it would seem.]

I apologize.

[His voice has softened as well, bearing a note of humility.]

That was presumptuous of me. Though I meant it as a friendly observation, I realize I have overstepped, and for that, I am sorry.

[It is genuine, his apology, his brow knit with worry.]

Please. Let us speak no more of this. The fault is mine.