Wolfgang startles again (but Michael is probably used to this, his power set is rather startling) and pulls their hand back, not like it will make a difference since it's currently on them. It's only a kneejerk reaction, because after a second they're raising their arm in front of their face, fascinated, turning it this way and that and noting how it's just a solid patch of blackness, not even a shimmer of a reflection from the lights in the ceiling. They put their hand on top of it gently as if they might hurt it if they press too hard — Wolfgang is also the kind of person who veers around pigeons — trying to determine how solid it is; they can feel something under their hand but at the same time it's like nothing is there.
“That shouldn't be possible,” they say, slightly frustrated, and it sounds more like they're talking to themself, like they just forgot he's standing right there. “There is no vacuum and something has to be absorbing the photons.”