[ The tea is a distraction, he thinks, and it means nothing to him in the wake of how much she means to him. The urge to reach out and touch her is overwhelming, and only his own sense of propriety - and his own nerves - stop him from wrapping his arms around her and holding her so, so gently. This is new territory for him, but...
He is doing what he can.
Wen Qing reaches for him, and he reaches back, the callouses on his hand brushing against her own. Slowly, he draws it up, so that he can lean in and kiss the tip of her fingers, turning to kiss her knuckle. It feels a touch on the edge of embarrassing, but that's okay; he can deal with a touch of sheepishness for her. ]
Closer, now, then?
[ He would move to her, go to her, now. Draw her into his lap. Hold her. ]
no subject
He is doing what he can.
Wen Qing reaches for him, and he reaches back, the callouses on his hand brushing against her own. Slowly, he draws it up, so that he can lean in and kiss the tip of her fingers, turning to kiss her knuckle. It feels a touch on the edge of embarrassing, but that's okay; he can deal with a touch of sheepishness for her. ]
Closer, now, then?
[ He would move to her, go to her, now. Draw her into his lap. Hold her. ]