His eyes blinked slowly, once then twice, and then glanced towards her. His coat. But no, he wasn't ready for that. Wasn't ready for the marker that it made him. The hero costume he decorated himself in. He felt a long way off that yet.

"Not yet," he said quietly, and thought maybe she understood that. Her of fans and layers and masks. She knew.

His eyes flicked again, and this time down to her hand. He watched and breathed a deep and heavy breath. Measured to keep an element of control.

"I'm fine," he said, "I don't need it," some sort of weak protestation. And it was good in a way that he could protest at all. It meant he wasn't quite ready to give up.