*freezes, startled* *pulls his face back and looks at you uncomprehendingly* What? What is it?
*...and then understanding kicks in with the force of a backslap (you've had a headache all day and you're tired, of course you are)* Oh—oh, damn. I'm sorry. Dammit.
*eases away, his cheeks burning with embarrassment (he's just now registering the signals your body's giving off—tense, tired, totally disinterested)* Sorry, I thought you wanted... sorry. *rubs his wrist against your hip earnestly, babbling* It's all right, we've got, what, a few more weeks of me playing hooky? All the time in the world. No problem.