Lucas leaned back into the seat, exhaling slowly, like his body had finally caught up with the decisions his mind had already made. He reached across the bench and pulled his coat over his lap—tucking the edge under one knee, motion efficient and casual.
Then, quietly, he reached out again.
His fingers brushed Ava's hand first—accidental contact, light enough to be written off.
Except he didn't move away.
Instead, his thumb swept across the back of her hand—once, twice, as if tracing the curve of a blueprint he couldn't quite name. And then, without ceremony, he took both of her hands in his, turning them palm-up and cradling them like they were warm data and he was reading her system with his skin.
Ava blinked, halfway caught between curiosity and mild disbelief.
"What are you doing?"
Lucas didn't answer right away. He just looked down at their hands.
Then—head tilted slightly—he lifted one of hers closer.
And inhaled.
