What was he?
Disappointed? Upset? Touched? All of the above?
He wasn't sure which of the emotions were strongest as he watched Fox and looked at the shirt, still pressed against the flesh he had hoped to see on some level he was still in denial over. But he knew it was for the best, that what his bronzerider said would be good for them both in the end. He realized where his thoughts were taking him and he whimpered under his breath, a sound that Fox was sure to hear, and so he turned around again, to try and hide the flush that was quickly creeping up his neck and onto his face. He tried to shake it from his head, and all the action did was lodge it deeper into the recesses of his skull. There was no getting rid of the thoughts, nor increasing the volume of insistence that he wouldn't be won over.
The longer he stood there though, the more sweetness broke into his mind when he realized the implications were, and as it took root in him, it spilled into his veins, and he... he had to grip the edge of the table as his knees started to grow weak. Fox was trying, he would give him credit there, and he cared, and J'on... J'on felt good about that. He tried to tell himself nothing would come of it, even as his heart started to hammer in his chest, the blood heated in his body, warmth filled his stomach, and his face started to soften in away Fox would notice when J'on looked over his shoulder at him.
A hand went over his heart, his fingers curled and he tried to still it, all but certain Fox could hear it above the sound coming through the door. It pounded a not to subtle tattoo against his ribs. He dipped a cloth in the redwort and turned, looking at the man with a softer expression than he had in recent days and he was reminded of how much he wanted him... of how much he couldn't have him. With his body pounding with need he started to make his approach, everything in him singing Fox's praises, everything in him yearning to silence the voice and insist it shouldn't work against him.
When he reached Fox, he stood before him, breath stuttering, and his hands moved, not to wash his face and clear it, but to brush his hair back gently, as he had done outside. For a moment that's all he did, soft, gentle movements and soft eyes moving over a face he still adored with every fiber of his being. "This can't change anything. This doesn't change anything." He swallowed hard, stop the tender movements, and with a hand under Fox's chin, started to clean the cut above his brow.