"I was hardly brooding," Ignis insisted, because he knew brooding, and he knew it very well. Brooding was dark and heavy and felt like he was drowning in the sea of his own thoughts, but this contemplation was light and buoyant and felt like surfacing for air, like the first break of dawn on your face after a long and arduous night.

His head tilted backslightly, while his fingers drifted along her back, enjoying not only the softness of the fabric of her dressing gown, but also its thickness...or lack thereof.

"And we hardly need to retreat back to bed," he added, "to work up a good appetite."