Havelock mentally revises his half-formulated attempt to explain... well, explain Princess Tutu, in favour of balancing himself with a half-step back and catching Puck with the slightest of smiles that he can't be bothered to repress.

He rests one hand against the back of the fae's neck with familiar fondness and - a little - relief. It had been worrying, for all that the transference wasn't exactly a danger.