Michael accepts Wolfgang’s touch again. It’s deeply strange to have his father see it, it feels like an intrusion—why can’t he have anything only for himself? But it feels good, too, that physical reassurance. It steadies him enough that he can look up from the tabletop.
“I see,” Morris says, looking at their joined hands. “I wish I knew about this sooner, I have friends who can help you find a nice place, but I will forgive it. Let me still talk to them for you anyway, they will give a good price for a new couple. Better if I can say you will be married soon.” He spreads his arms invitingly and smiles.
Michael slumps down in the booth and rolls his eyes, cheeks burning red. He knew it would come to this eventually, but that doesn't stop it from being mortifying. “Come on, don't do this,” he huffs.