[ He realizes his error as soon as his words have faded away, as soon as he catches the expression crossing her face. Oh, no, he. That was badly played. Shit shit shit he fucked this one up.

He didn’t mean that. He doesn’t regret the loss of his ring, hardly even considers the loss of his ring because it’s found a new and better home, better purpose. He was starting to become worried, more than fake-worried about his loss of deviance, his possible transition into, what, being a sorry bastard not-even-a-has-been and nothing more?

And he thinks. And he thinks, you know what would be nice right about now? You know what would be good and helpful? It’s perched on the nightstand, all collected inside a crystal-clear bottle, and it wouldn’t take so much to turn and retrieve it. Just one drink, maybe two because this feels a lot like a two-drink situation.

No, no, but. First he should say something. He can’t leave her lingering so long.

He adjusts himself so that he can raise a hand to her cheek, watching her close. Trying his best to hold her with his gaze, communicate that he’s sorry, he’s really really sorry and he wasn’t thinking clear. ]

No, I just—

Shit, I’m sorry, Kat. I wasn’t thinking. Not that that… I shouldn’t’ve said it in the first place, and I don’t mean—

I like that the ring’s yours now. I like that you’ve kept it. I like looking over and seeing it on your finger, all right?

Anyway, if it’s a choice between deviance and my wife, I’d rather have you.

Hey.

[ That's his hand moving, that's his finger pressing gentle on her nose. ]

Best wife. Best deviant ring for best deviant wife.