Jedao - all five foot nine of him - is deceptively strong, trim and wiry, and his reflexes are sharp enough that he manages to catch Ilya and steady him. He looks briefly about as shocked as though Ilya did bowl him over, though.

It's been a long time since Jedao touched anyone, and Ilya is...exactly his type. Shoulders for days, frown of a soldier, bright pretty eyes. Jedao's hands flex slightly where they're gripping Ilya's biceps.

"Hi, stranger," he murmurs, with a warm grin and a faint drawl of an accent not from anywhere on earth. "You doing alright?" Need a spotter, perhaps.