Michael looks down, then glances over at them. One of his eyes is caught halfway reflecting a light. “Thanks,” he says quietly.
The area beneath the roof of the lookout is one big shadow. He connects with it, pulling part of it out and building it into one of his stronger shadows, the tangible ones. It snakes over Wolfgang’s thigh and onto their hand, then curls up and around their wrist and arm, underneath the coat and cardigan. The tail end stays visible, coiled in their fingers. Michael finds that the strange feeling he’d gotten the last time he’d done this is more noticeable now. He shivers and reddens with it. Possibly a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to undo it. It’s like holding hands without holding hands, and Wolfgang hadn’t minded last time.