"Barely, but I think we did," Elvis laughs, shaking his head before he turns it on a whim to press a kiss to Effy's temple, quietly affectionate. It says a hell of a lot more than he could on his own, that's for sure; he works with words, but when it comes to using them for himself, he's never been that skilled. Letting them spill from his fingers is easier than letting them spill from his mouth, than trying to explain how much this means, having here beside him, one person who hasn't given up or walked away or disappeared, to be able to laugh at all. Not many people could prompt it from him at all, but with Effy, it comes naturally, like a long-forgotten instinct being dusted off for reuse. "Not bad."