Yelena ducked her head, smiling to herself, as Will finished getting dressed. The layers he seemed to prefer to swath himself in, no matter the weather or temperature, were back on. Their unassuming style belied the muscles that hid underneath. Will Graham looked like a relatively lean individual in all his button downs and neutral colors.
Taking a chance, Yelena ventured close and fixed the collar on the shirt Will just put on. “You dress like a dad,” she teased, her fingertips dipping for a moment in between skin and material. “Or a stuffy professor.” Then thinking about the schooling some of the others were setting up, and how Will was cajoled into a potential teaching position, that might not be so far off the mark. “Neither are bad things.”
The explanation Will offered up was a reasonable one. Of course he would think of the unusual nature of that situation as an extremely unreliable sign for waking life. “You did, you told me.” Her eyes fell to where his teeth had begun worrying at his lip. “Do you often imagine kissing women who are into handcuffs?” It was a joke, but it was also poignant. “Or offer to take them fishing?” she asked, remembering the tidbit from earlier in the networks.