Matt would be happy to collide now, in whatever way--his caution is purely for disclosing his magic, not for exercising it. In his own experience, commingling has always been the right decision. But equally, he's pleased for the chance to talk about magic. Nearly giddy, in his glowing way. Harry moves closer, says he has an idea, and Matt's attention sharpens, anticipation clear on his face.

It's his own question that diverts things, of course. Matt's eyes follow the arc of Harry's fingers as they lift, and for the first time, he lets himself really look at the scar on Harry's face rather than simply landing on it. Like the scar across his own left cheek, it's obviously not the kind of injury you get by accident. Its shape alone speaks of cruelty and conflict, survival hard won. Always aching to soothe other people's hurts, Matt wants to touch; his fingers twitch briefly on the lip of the tub before he can arrest the movement.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Rote language, but Matt's voice is soft and solemn. "I hope more doesn't come for a while yet, at least. But, uh ..." A quirk of a smile. "Sorry, you were saying you had an idea?"