He can feel the eyes of the other customers on him, but tries to ignore the growing unease. His skin prickles below the fabric, cold sweat breaking out mere seconds before Jade continues his work. And then his body heats up as if on cue.

Taking a sharp breath, he cups one hand with the other, fidgeting. The sudden tightness drags a surprised sound of discomfort from his lips. He could loosen the tie; he doesn't. The pain is good. It grounds him, it distracts him. "Do you like it?" He's not sure if he's asking about the tie anymore; when he quietly adds, "I think I do," he's talking about the sensations, not the look.

He's not even glanced at the tie, after all.