Simon doesn't have a comprehensive knowledge of the kind of sounds most people tend to make in the throes of passion, when he's always needed to keep safely quiet and ensure that his partner can do the same--but anyone can tell that a noise like that is not something you want to prompt from a lover, nor the sudden deathly stillness. He pulls back, instantly concerned and already contrite, taking in Myr's face with only a momentary stomach-lurch at the clear view of the empty sockets again.

"Myr? What's happened? I didn't mean to--I ought to have asked, shouldn't I, I'm sorry, I just thought--"

You're welcome to look is not you're welcome to touch, after all, not in so bold or forward a capacity, but he had thought Myr was angling them both in that direction. Surely it's got to be something Simon's done, some mistake he's unwittingly made, for things to go from warm laughing kisses to frozen horror in so brief a split second.