Obliviousness came easily when Barnaby hid his emotions under that careful veneer. Although Kotetsu does his best to be aware of where the people around him are mentally and emotionally, he's also learned to respect that certain people need space, and that a guiding hand can be just as much of a distraction as it can be a help. That one touch can tip the balance irreversibly.

But Barnaby has none of his trademark calm now, long fingers warm around the curve of Kotetsu's hand, and eyes bright behind the protection of his frames. Kotetsu would be foolish not to notice, and he does his best to hide the momentary quiver in his own hand as he leans in closer, pressing his forehead against Barnaby's.

The buried habit surfaces with an ache. He hasn't allowed himself this type of closeness in years — not since Tomoe passed away — but when presented with the moment, it feels like walking down a worn path. As though, at some point, Barnaby slipped in without Kotetsu's notice.

It feels like coming home, only Kotetsu can't remember when he moved in.

His brow furrows for only a moment before he closes the remaining distance between the both of them, hand tightening against the nape of Barnaby's neck as he seeks out the curve of his lips for a tentative kiss. Asking for reassurance, rather than permission.