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Yulia was playing with his hand. Dragging her fingers up and down the length of it, pinching the skin between his thumb and his pointer, digging circles into the center of his palm.

Walt was keenly aware of it, and Hollis was watching him.

As much as one could watch in this situation.

He cataloged what things made Walt want to twitch, the pressures that made him want to close their eyes. They sat unmoving, watching the whiteboard. Walt slid their gaze over the curve of Yulia’s brow, the flick of her lashes.

I would love her, if I had the chance, Walt said.

Hmm. What would that look like? If you had your own body, I mean.

I’d be kind to her always. Work hard for her. Make myself good enough to introduce to her family. She likes bread, so I’d get her that instead of flowers. After we wed, I’d fill our house with it, make it fresh for her every day after work.

You’re a romantic.

It was just the way.

Yulia doesn’t like boys. But I’m sure if you were you, she wouldn’t mind having you around the way she likes having me around. Hand?

Walt gave it to him, and Hollis curled his fingers until he and Yulia were holding hands properly.

She sighed, laid her head down on the desk, and closed her eyes.