Bruno's skin is warm and softer than one might think; and his scent, woodsmoke and sage, the faint musk of pet rodents, the slight pungency of cannabis, wafts almost reluctantly into the nose. Again, he seems to lean into the touch unconsciously, eyes closing briefly.

At the words, he gives a nervous laugh, still a bit breathless and shaky. "Well, that's me, I never do things the normal way," he quips.