Different

They've held hands about a hundred times- when they were unsure or afraid, as when they left Ember; to keep together in the dark or a crowd; to help her out a of tree or off of her horse. Once a week or more, Lina wraps his hand in both of hers and pulls away from his diamonds and frayed wires, into the sunshine; once a week or more Doon leads her by the hand back to those diamonds, to show her what else he's discovered.

But this time, it's different. This time he's acutely aware of the intricate braid of their fingers, of how small her hand is encased in his, of the tiny pulses in their palms that beat against each other. This time he's suddenly flustered and clumsy and warm and is pleading, praying, his hand isn't doing anything stupid, sweating or shaking or anything else that could possibly make her want to let go. This time it's so incredibly different.

Because this time, right now, she's holding his hand for no reason at all.