The fingers wrapped around Ishiah's hands drive him to action, anchoring him there, the heat calling out some of the peri's own with a small flare of air. Tugging against their pull and resting his palms along the lines of Robin's jaw, Ishiah leans forward to press a kiss to Robin's lips. It's barely more than chaste, a dry press of lips and a bump of their noses and a pinch of Robin's lip between his own, but that's all that Ishiah should need right now.

It's not about passion or the reunion — hardly even a reunion by Ishiah's time, anyway. It's about the need for reassurance and a slow, yet constant learning on Ishiah's end to fit himself into those cracks in Robin's disposition.

"I'm not an idiot, though you seem to very much enjoy calling me that on occasion. I know. I know, and I'm still here, and I'm not leaving, and we'll need to have a talk. But your bar needs your attention, and I'm completely unfamiliar with this city. I'd prefer some direction."