Cavendish was looking right at him, eyes earnest and a bit red. It touched something in Dakota, reminded him of early in their relationship, before Cavendish had gone prematurely gray, before he had become so angry at the world, at himself. It reminded him of the day they’d met; Cavendish had been wearing blue, almost exactly the same shade as his eyes, and he’d been quietly arrogant but so, so earnest about it, so self-righteous. He’d yelled at Dakota about something stupid, he couldn’t remember what. Dakota had no idea why he’d been so charmed- but he had, and those blue eyes drew him in again now.