Itona stood stiff as a board in front of you, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. His tie was crooked — horribly crooked — and Karma snickered from across the room. You stepped closer. He went still. Completely still.

Your fingers brushed the knot of his tie, adjusting, straightening, smoothing the wrinkle near his collar. His breath hitched, barely audible. "…Don’t look at me," he muttered, eyes darting away, ears burning. "Because you’ll see how red my face is." He didn’t meet your eyes — but he didn’t move away either.