His gaze flicked away from Anthony's briefly, and he eased back into the tabletop on which he'd just placed his coat. Perhaps he was a little scared of that intensity, but he feared it was more the opposite.

"And that is my fault, how?" he said, posture defensive and a little haughty, an anxious tinge to his otherwise firm tone. He licked his lips, looked ceiling-wards in a nervous tick, then back to Anthony. His fingers flexed their grip on the table edge. "I've been using it for ages--maybe you noticed the scent when you gave me a ride on your motorcycle. It wouldn't be difficult to re-imagine it in your dream. People have dreams about people they've barely met all the time. It doesn't have to mean anything!"