Concentrating on the feel of her skin, the layers of muscle beneath, the way she shifts under his touch...yeah, when there isn't even a hint of the detachment they tried to maintain the first time Curtis visited, he's having a hard time remembering to shift his focus from his right hand to his left, carrying the information between the two.

(That just means he has to keep touching her. Damn.)

Both hands just above her elbows, Curtis stills when her fingers light on his scar. A small noise, not quite a wince, forms in the back of his throat: it doesn't carry any pain, but she can feel an aversion as deep as the mark, so deep it touches the shadow swimming under his thoughts.