He's so calm. Johnny doesn't know what he expected. This man is not afraid of him, has no reason to be, has no reason to defer to his wishes, and this he makes expressly clear when his hand curls around Johnny's throat.

Instantly Johnny goes very, extremely still. His hands drop at once, as though burned, and his breath hitches hard when Niall forcibly turns his head. His hands hang limp at his sides, useless, not an impulse left even to fight back against the unwelcome grip; it's true, the room is better, gentler, calmer, and Johnny feels an unnatural burst of shame at having ignored it.

"I," he stammers, stops and swallows. He is not going to apologize. He will not. Instead he casts his eyes downward, feeling small and pathetic, which is almost as bad. "They're private, is all."