[Jasper shifts once again and rolls both shoulders before checking his hair, one hand sneaking around his back. Fingers clench at strands; nearly poking and prodding his friend. Truth be told, he rather enjoys being this close after years of experiencing the opposite. Though he doesn't acknowledge the hand pressed against his chest until the last second - when he gently lifts it away.
no subject
He moves it to his shoulder. Problem solved.]
It is too late for jokes.
[Hendrik's humour? That's another problem.]