By now, having known him this long, Wysteria must be familiar enough to recognize Ellis struggling over his words. He finds himself at a loss. It is difficult, feeling one sentiment come so immediately to hand, and having to sift and sort until he can find a way past it.

He looks away from her face. He takes her hand in his own, thumb running back and forth over the back of her palm. It's a loose hold, easily disengaged when she has had her fill of it.

What would he have of her? This is not a question he knows how to answer. Or rather, it is not a question he knows how to answer truthfully. Not while still being fair to her. Not in such a way that would not become a burden to her.

"I enjoy dancing with you," Ellis says quietly, brow knit into furrows. Watching their hands, and not the too-bright smile on her face that Ellis knows to be as much a function of her unhappiness as it is a mask. The second half of this answer explains itself: this is the thing that matters. Her. The moments in time where he might permit himself to consider the possibility that—

The thought is fractured before it can continue on. Ellis draws in a breath. Recognizes that he has not offered her sufficient response, though he doesn't see what else can be said, he adds, "But I don't want you to be unhappy. Not over this."

In which this holds place for a great many things, all of which Ellis keeps tucked neatly away.