Ahir stares at Seregil's hand. Something about it feels dangerous; like he's giving in to something that's not for him. For such a very long time, it hasn't been for him. Not friendship, nor kindness, nor a gentle touch.
But something about Seregil's demeanor inspires a certain streak of impulsivity in Ahir. He can't explain it, but he's not inclined to agonize over it either. Ahir places his hand in Seregil's, and it's warmer and softer than he expected. It's--
It's nice.
"Alright," Ahir says, barely above a whisper. "Thank you."
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But something about Seregil's demeanor inspires a certain streak of impulsivity in Ahir. He can't explain it, but he's not inclined to agonize over it either. Ahir places his hand in Seregil's, and it's warmer and softer than he expected. It's--
It's nice.
"Alright," Ahir says, barely above a whisper. "Thank you."