Fitz’s gaze is on his shoes, and—whoa, whoa, whoa… Hold the fuck up. Covertly, Fitz looks up, glancing at Elodie out of the corner of his eye. I wait for him to look away, but he lingers on her, just that little bit too long. The muscle in his jaw tics. That’s when he finally looks away. What the fuck was that, Fitz? I do not fucking think so, homie.
