Richard Dickerson hardly moves, resignation borderline sympathetic in a fine bristle of tension at the backs of his chops. This feels very much like an undue level of excitement.

He looks away from the brightness in her eyes, and back to nod reassurance in the same beat he proffers disappointment, matter-of-fact:

“No. I prefer not to speak to anyone here if I can avoid it.” While they’re being honest. “Outside of a select few, I’m confident the aversion is mutual.”