It's a smile he doesn't see with his head still bowed, still thumbing through the pages of the book. There's loose paper tucked into the pages - notes for something that he can't quite puzzle out and for a moment the niggling itch of something like recognition scratching at the back of his head is more compelling than the question asked through the narrow gap between her top and bottom teeth. T.E. Lawrence is scribbled on a scrap of a photocopy. How absurd.

But he does glance up eventually. And while he means for it to be a brief glance, he finds his gaze settling there.

"Ah, yeah. You're a complete monster. I mean look at you, all next to naked and rumpled. You'll sour the milk in your very tea at this rate."