The realisation did not embarrass him as much as it once might have. Dinner with Vaughn had become one of those dangerous little domestic things Valentin had learned to want without immediately apologising for it; a plate set aside, a chair waiting, the ordinary miracle of being expected somewhere without having to earn it first. He glanced over from where he had been pretending to examine the window latch, mouth threatening the smallest smile because he had been caught lingering and they both knew it. ( He could admit it now. That was new. Wanting, staying, choosing. No catastrophe followed. ) Turning fully, he stepped back towards Vaughn instead of remaining half-poised near the exit.