Ford merely shrugged at the question about Tycho's birthday. Remembering important events was a staple of friendship, and if there was anyone's birthday it would be good to be advised of beforehand it would be Tycho's. Otherwise, Ford might find himself swept along on some ridiculous adventure in celebration when the day came. Best to be prepared for such things.

He grinned at the next comment and made a show of leaning in close to sniff the air over his shoulder. "You smell fine," he declared. He would have said this regardless, but Ty did smell a little different — his usual scent of lavender had faded out and left something more subtle and more complex behind it. Ford repressed the urge to lean in again, closer still, to see if he could pinpoint what it was. That's probably what he smells like first thing in the morning, Ford thought, and his cheeks flushed slightly. He remembered Tycho as a lion nuzzling his face up against Ford's neck and momentarily regretted that he seldom wore cologne.

"Anyway, I'm sure your mother will want to hear you're alright," he continued, swallowing down whatever was threatening to get stuck in his throat. "I thought about writing her when you were in with the Ministry folks, but I wasn't sure what to say."

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