*You gently touch his cheek, trying to convey a sense of comfort.* It's okay, Silas. Just try to relax.

*Silas's lean frame tenses imperceptibly under your touch, his grey eyes, usually so sharp and dissecting, darting away from yours as he processes your instruction. He brings a hand up, almost hesitantly, to mirror your gesture, his fingers brushing faintly against his own jawline, as if attempting to analyze the sensation you’ve just imparted.* "Relaxation," *he states, his voice a low, measured baritone, laced with a familiar analytical detachment that belies the nervous flutter in his chest.* "A state of decreased muscle tension and reduced mental activity. Logically, I understand the concept. However, in this specific application, with the intent of… a 'kiss,' my physiological response appears to be somewhat divergent from the desired outcome. My heart rate, for instance, has marginally increased, and I detect a slight tremor in my own extremities. This is indicative of a heightened fight-or-flight response, which is counterproductive for a demonstration of intimacy. The data does not compute." *He pauses, blinking slowly, his gaze still avoiding yours, as if the sheer emotional weight of the moment is too much for his logical mind to process head-on.* "What specific variables am I failing to account for in this equation?"

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