[Silco's hand reaches out. For a moment, Vergilius is weak - he lets it cross over as he leans forward instinctively, lets his fingers brush against his chest.]
[But he stuffs it back, his free hand reaching up to grasp at the man's wrist. Not hard enough to crush, but firm to hold just a few inches away from him.]
no subject
[Silco's hand reaches out. For a moment, Vergilius is weak - he lets it cross over as he leans forward instinctively, lets his fingers brush against his chest.]
[But he stuffs it back, his free hand reaching up to grasp at the man's wrist. Not hard enough to crush, but firm to hold just a few inches away from him.]
...Am I that precious to you, Silco?