[For a moment, it seems almost as though he would say something else—a short breath in, slightly parted lips—but the only motion he makes is to raise his free hand, resting it over the hand Prussia has on his chest.



It's not the same as last time. There is no wrongness here, no horribly itchy crawly feeling of this isn't right. An echo of the stubbornness remains, guarding what lies below&mash;but whatever guards exist, whatever walls, they part for Prussia's presence with no more resistance than the gentle swing of a well-oiled door.]