[ Alby is all too easy to wrap his index finger back around Newt's, pleased as punch that the guy doesn't seem to really have boundaries -- anyone else would get shoved away, told to back off, but if anything he wants him closer, want to close the distance between them until there's nothing left.
He doesn't do that, though. Not so much because he hardly knows Newt, but because they're on a crowded train, with enough people glancing at them as it is. He pulls the hand at his hip away, tugging down his shirt ( is it strange to be protective of the tattoo, to not want other people to see it, to want to trace it with the tip of his tongue? ) and flattening it with his palm, grinning up at Newt at his question. ]
S'it our wedding?
[ He jokes, twisting his fingers around so he can properly hold Newt's hand, tangling their fingers all with each other -- and content to find that they match up, that Newt's hand is smooth and soft and Alby really isn't looking forward to ever letting it go again. ]
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He doesn't do that, though. Not so much because he hardly knows Newt, but because they're on a crowded train, with enough people glancing at them as it is. He pulls the hand at his hip away, tugging down his shirt ( is it strange to be protective of the tattoo, to not want other people to see it, to want to trace it with the tip of his tongue? ) and flattening it with his palm, grinning up at Newt at his question. ]
S'it our wedding?
[ He jokes, twisting his fingers around so he can properly hold Newt's hand, tangling their fingers all with each other -- and content to find that they match up, that Newt's hand is smooth and soft and Alby really isn't looking forward to ever letting it go again. ]
Yeah, I'll go with you.