Malcolm slides it on his finger and then alternates between looking at it on his finger and looking at Will’s face with the same dopey, charmed expression. When Will finishes, Malcolm holds his gaze, nods, then gives him a gentle, lingering kiss.

“If you were asking me, I’d say yes.” A beat and a crooked smile. “And Shaw would kill us both. But I don’t care about that or whether you’re free. I’m with you.” He nods and his fingers move restless along seams and stitches on Will’s shirt. “And I love it. Thank you.” He kisses him again. “Thank you.”