He startles at being addressed, feeling suddenly skittish, like a nervous deer, and it takes a long fraught moment before Alecto's words actually register to his uncertain ear.

"I... don't know yet," he mumbles, looking down at the page again, though he can't help but glance up at Alecto, at the sun-limned expanse of limbs and bare skin, of the sight of his body on perfect display in the last of the morning sunlight, as the clock strikes noon. "I... what would you like, Alecto?"