There's no shame in admitting that he's so occupied with details that there isn't nearly enough time to panic. Which is sort of nice in and of itself. (There are a full five inches to traverse here and the curve of Lucas' grin is just a tiny bit higher on one side and, man, is he clever - like he even looks clever - and it sort of makes no sense at all that this is happening.) Bash does some of his best work in split seconds.

The first attempt makes him laugh, just barely a soft exhale, and it takes some genuine effort not to stick his fingers into the mess of things - to smooth them down the bridge of Lucas' nose just to check that it's fine. So they hover for a moment instead, fluttering a bit like winged things freshly pinned.

But the second one works out just fine, even if it catches a bit on the edge of a grin. But that's easily realigned. Easily. Bash presses upward helpfully and his fingers finally figure out what they want to do with themselves, carefully skimming the ends of dark curls. They're soft and everything just kind of goes all still and hushed and fuzzy in his head. No clamoring of bells or shuffling of run-on sentences, just - quiet. It's pretty much the best thing he's heard all day.