[ God, he's so... delicate for a man, for a soldier (well, if a sailor can even truly be called that)—peculiar overall, really, in a way that can't entirely be attributed to his Englishness. For a moment he's not sure if Irving's sincerely asking if he's made some sort of social error, seeing as such an inquiry would be deeply in-character for him, and, for reasons he doesn't care to dwell on, he almost humors the question—but then Irving follows up, more quietly, and it's immediately apparent that this is all still well within the realm of... whatever this is. However one would quantify the warmth flooding his system, the way his heart races under its many layers of wool and skin and bone, his emerging singleminded focus on nothing but this man.

And how it would feel to put him on the floor. ]

[ His voice comes out quiet, matter-of-fact. ] If you'd seriously wronged me, Lieutenant, you would already be dead.

[ Even though it would, at this point... take a lot for him to kill John Irving and scrape his company out of Cheol-gang's own life. He keeps his thumb on the 'close doors' button and turns his head in Irving's direction. ]

For something like... striking a superior officer... You'd be cuffed. On the ground. I'd keep you restrained, probably get a few kicks in, remind you of your place. Insubordination is a serious offense. Is that what you want to hear?