Wolfgang offers a shy smile, then ducks their eyes down again. This time they reach over and pull a few of those strange, translucent ribbons. They do have to let go of him, letting his hand drop so casually it's almost careless, as if their entire awareness weren't zeroed in on that point of connection only a few seconds ago.
“I have to get something,” they mumble as they struggle to their feet and start digging through boxes as if they're looking for something specific. They finally produce two miniature cork-stoppered bottles, the kind you'd see in a cartoon, cast out at sea with a message in them, but small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.
They do some fiddling that involves blowing inside the bottle and stopping it, then threading it with the ribbon. They had him one. “Put it on. Keep it on.”
When he has it on they take him by the hand, tugging him to his feet and towards the door in the back. They hesitate there with their hand on the frame, looking a little nervous, which does not bode well when it comes to inspiring confidence in others.
Wolfgang has almost never done magic in front of Michael. They did it once where he could see, when they made the pendant he wears to mask the shiny reflection of his eyes, but otherwise he's mostly seen Wolfgang's magic in its finished, completed form.
There's no pomp and circumstance, no flash and bang or glow of sparkles. They just walk through the door with Michael's hand in theirs, and when they step out, they are standing and breathing on the moon.