If you would allow it, that probably would be less disconcerting than a vanishing one upon myself.

[ He perches at the edge of the bed, leaning forward to unfasten his sandals. He's not quite so desperate to help in any way that he can that he'll consider wearing shoes in bed. And he's aware now, constantly, of every tiny noise in what he always thought of as a silent act. The metal of the buckle clicking. The sound of the leather strap dragging against it as it pulls loose.

It wasn't until he realised he ought to be as quiet as possible that he started realising just how much noise even the smallest action makes ]

Thank you. You are good, to allow me my whims.