[Paul cups Falco's face on the opposite side of his falcon's perch, brushing a thumb over his cheek. It's a thing he doesn't remember ever having done for anyone else before, only had done to him, and it feels like a part of the world shifting under his hand. He doesn't know what his own eyes might look like, except that he feels a salt-sharp prick at their corners he blinks away.]

That's right. [Paul nods, emphatically, letting his hand come down to Falco's shoulder.] So we don't need to be so worried, do we?

[We being the operative word. Falco is going to worry, Paul is not unrealistic, but Paul will shoulder as much of it as he can for him. That starts with being steady enough to balance it. That starts with coaxing Falco back into his chair and sliding a pastry in front of him before Paul pulls his chair around the table to sit next to him and drape an arm over his shoulder companionably.]

So let's eat, and we can talk about it, if you want to, or we can talk about anything else. I still owe you a story, don't I?