[Of course he wants to leave. Me too. Me too. As if that conveyed anything at all. The moment is well past now. It would be bloody awkward to say anything more substantial now. Of all of the times not to wax poetic or overly long. Why did it have to be then? Why couldn't he just say what he'd meant? Why didn't Crowley understand him? Did he think he opened up to him out of some misbegotten pity?

Likely.

His fingers dance a fretful little motion, the ones at his side. The ones in Crowley's grip loosen in sympathy. He wants to go after all. Then let him. Didn't he also just determine not to be so selfish? A first test, then.]

Right, a velocipede. I did enjoy them once, before the streets crowded so with automobiles.

[It's difficult allowing his hand to slip down and away. He tamps down on any unfortunate noises or expressions, just a certain tightness at the corners of his eyes betraying the intense discomfort of it.]

I'll give you a ring, then.