The brush of knuckles makes something strange happen in his gut, a twisting and a flutter that is both pleasant and unwanted in the same breath. His head tips, doe eyes a little wider than they usually are, the barest hint of a surprised flush at the apples of his cheeks. No fear, mania, resentment - just the echoes of shame. It takes everything in him to keep Crozier’s gaze, to the point he even forces his hands to still on their work when he doesn’t need to look to complete a simple button repair.

“I see. Thank you, sir.”

The evening. He thinks ahead to his duties, and the things that may be completed for the man a little earlier, but even that feels unfair when the other men involved won’t have any advanced notice. No, the point is to work through the discomfort, after all. To feel the sting of welts and wounds when he’s turning down Crozier’s bed for the night, or crouched to assist him out of his boots.

No, he will simply have to shoulder through so the Captain does not notice the difference in his care. After dinner, then it will be done. He makes a mental note to check in with young Mr Chambers after. All the effort to spare him, and yet. How foolish.

“Would you like your bath prepared this morning, Captain? With the kitchen stoves still warm it would be a simple ask.”

Hands remain still, Jopson filling the air with asks and requests is simpler.