He smiles--truly smiles--and he's so caught off guard he actually winds up stammering, just briefly, and winds up running his fingers over the pan's handle.

This is exactly what he doesn't want to do. And yet?

Fuck. Maybe both of them can break their own rules.

"It--uh, it unsettles people. That I'm not looking at them, so.." So that's why he didn't take them off last night, he means to say, but he can't quite find the words. He's far too taken with Tim, far too in love with his scent and his voice--that gravely, mumbling southern twang.

It's Tim's voice.

If Matt had his way, Tim would just sit there and read a fucking phone book.

"I'm glad it doesn't bother you," He manages. "Most people, they treat me like I'm made of glass."