coffee stains on your fingertips (and under my skin)

[shanwens]

chen/kai ; ~5100 ; r
jongin only orders white chocolate mochas.
pinch-hit for chenpionships !!



So many people like to pretend they are different; they think that asking for two shots of vanilla in their lattes or a substitute of soy milk will make them more of themselves. Even if they ask for different amounts of sugar in their coffee, everyone’s still searching for a way to distract their tongues and souls without completely losing their minds.

It works like this: people come to coffee shops for warmth and reassurance on cold cloudy days, but when the sky gleams cerulean and the sun smiles they go for sweetness more easily found in smoothies. And so Jongdae wonders who could possibly need comforting on such a beautiful day as this.

He has been working in this coffee shop for long enough to recognize the general reasons why people come here. Those who are relatively well off are often here to take pictures of their drinks and find satisfaction in the number of likes they get on their posts, or the older ones relish the bitter aftertaste that resonates so well with the business reports they have to read. There are those who come for the nice playlist that loops through the cheap speakers and the sunlight shining through the windows when it’s here, thinking that they can concentrate better in a place like this.

Today is the first time Jongdae sees someone come here for a reason he hasn’t seen before. Rays of sunshine fall through the glass gently and brightly, yet there is a boy in one of the window seats fast asleep with his head on his arm. He hadn’t ordered from Jongdae, but from Jongdae’s view from behind the counter the half-finished cup next to the boy’s head looks like some sort of mocha. It’ll be cold by the time he wakes up, unless it already is, Jongdae thinks sadly.

Seeing people nod off or doze a little in the worn armchairs is not unheard of, but falling deeply asleep in the coffee shop’s quite broad daylight is a new sight for Jongdae. On days like today where the flow of customers is uneven and slow, he sometimes lets his mind wander and imagine stories behind the people sitting in the cafe.

This boy’s story must be quite sad, for even as his fingers twitch in his sleep his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips parted and dry. His shoulders are broad, but his face is almost childishly young in his sleep.

“Hey, Minseok,” Jongdae calls out to his coworker who’s fixing himself a drink. “Do you know how long he’s been here? That guy asleep over there?”

Minseok blinks cluelessly for a few seconds, and then his eyebrows raise curiously. “Oh, him? I think he’s been here for a while? Maybe an hour and a half?”

“Should we do something about him?”

“Why? He’s not bothering anyone,” Minseok shrugs, turning back to his drink. “Do what you want.”

Minseok’s right, Jongdae supposes, but it seems weird to let some guy keep sleeping in their coffee shop. It can’t be that comfortable, and there’s probably something better for him to be doing. After ten minutes of trying to ignore him, Jongdae walks over to the table where the boy is sleeping and takes his half-full coffee cup. Luckily, the boy doesn’t stir yet, and Jongdae returns a few minutes later after reheating the drink. He sets the cup down on the table and taps the boy on the shoulder gently.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

The boy blinks slowly back to reality and opens his eyes, sleepily curious of Jongdae’s presence. He opens his mouth too, but only to yawn, and Jongdae hastens to fill the strange gap of silence.

“I’m sorry to wake you up from sleeping, but you’ve been here for a bit and I just thought you must have something else you want to do. In any case, you didn’t finish your drink yet, so I reheated it for you. Please enjoy!”

The boy still doesn’t say anything. He just looks up at Jongdae through dark lashes, still half in sleep, and blinks slowly. It’s kind of cute, but Jongdae doesn’t know if he’s supposed to do anything else, so he walks back to his station behind the counter.

After a few minutes, the boy finishes the rest of his coffee and leaves the store as suddenly as Jongdae had noticed him asleep at the table. Nothing much else happens for the rest of the day, and the sun continues shining through the glass window until it sets.

Jongdae doesn’t know exactly how long it takes to happen, but eventually the boy who fell asleep before begins returning on a daily basis. He doesn’t fall asleep again, but he orders from Jongdae enough times that his slightly husky pronunciation of “one white chocolate mocha, extra whipped cream” becomes a familiar part of Jongdae’s work routine. Open shop, clean the counter, white chocolate mocha, don’t pay any other attention to the boy. It works fine.

“You know,” Minseok brings up one day, “that boy who comes every day and orders a white chocolate mocha from you? I think he’s been in my line a few times but has waited or purposely switched lines just so he could order from you.”

Jongdae laughs. “What are you talking about? And shouldn’t you be busy keeping track of orders instead of making up stories about people standing in line?”

“I think someone has a crush,” Minseok sings as he elbows Jongdae in the stomach.

“You’re hopeless,” Jongdae says, pushing him back.

"What? What's going on? Someone likes Jongdae and or Jongdae likes someone?" Yixing walks back from polishing tables, looking confused as usual.

"Why don't you talk to him? Ask him what his name is? He'd probably love you even more for saving him from making the first move," Minseok snickers ever so slightly.

"He's just a customer and I'm just an employee," Jongdae sighs exasperatedly as he finishes polishing the counter two more times than necessary.

"Right, and Yixing has been sober for a week straight."

"Hey," Yixing protests, "I haven't done anything funny in five days already."

Minseok claps him on the back half-heartedly, and Jongdae rolls his eyes. Work is interesting, to say the least.

Jongdae isn't surprised when the boy walks up to the register, but he's thrown a little off-guard when the boy suddenly slams a hand on the counter and leans over a little too closely.

"Ex-tra whi-pping keu-ri-meu, whi-te cho-co-la-te mo-cha," the boy says very slowly, and Jongdae can hear the alcohol in the slurs between his syllables.

"Sir? Would you like to sit down first?"

"No, I like standing down," he replies, laughing weakly at his own joke, but he staggers weakly after Jongdae to a table and nearly falls into the chair. Jongdae sits across from him, trying to be the perfectly friendly but not invasive employee he’s supposed to be.

“I’m so stupid,” the boy slurs into his hands, and Jongdae wonders if he meant for his words to tangle with the gaps between his fingers or if he wants to say something but choked a little on fear.

“Why would you say something like that? What’s wrong?”

The boy stutters on his breaths and blinks too quickly as if his dark eyelashes are too heavy. “Because I might be in love with someone who I’ve never had a conversation with,” he finally replies, biting his lower lip so that it flushes like his cheeks.

“Why don’t you talk to them? Start out with small conversations, become friends, that kind of thing.”

“There’s no room for me. There’s never a good time,” the boy sighs.

“Are you sure about that? Life is short, and it'll really suck if you don't at least try making it a good time."

The boy looks up at Jongdae and stops blinking, making Jongdae’s breathing quiver for a moment. His eyes are an ordinary (but still lovely) shade of brown, or maybe mocha, since they’re in a coffee shop, but his gaze is piercing even in this intoxicated state.

Jongdae doesn’t remember how long they stare at each other, just taking in each other’s expressions and the flowing aroma of coffee. Finally, he thinks of something else to say, but just as he opens his mouth, the other boy suddenly stands up and bolts. He forgets to push in his chair, but he’s surprisingly agile for someone seemingly so drunk.

Only after the boy leaves does Jongdae wonder if he should have asked for the other’s name.

Jongdae doesn't know whether he's expecting anything the next day (he is, but he doesn't know if he wants to admit it to himself). He may be paying slightly more attention to each and every person who comes through the door of the coffee shop, but otherwise he’s fine.

“Who are you waiting for,” a voice breathes into his ear, and Jongdae yelps as he whirls around and nearly topples into Yixing, who has one of those strange smiles on his face again.

“No one! Why are you like this,” Jongdae growls in annoyance as he pulls Yixing into a not-too-gentle headlock, messing up the other’s hair with glee.

“Uh… can I order?” Jongdae and Yixing freeze as they look back over the counter, and Jongdae swallows. It’s the boy: sleepy boy, white chocolate mocha boy, drunk boy, cute boy. Wait.

“White chocolate mocha?” Jongdae asks, pushing a spluttering Yixing away and smiling cheerfully.

“Yes… and a cup of your favorite as well,” the boys shyly smiles back.

“What?”

“It’s not too busy now, is it? Could we talk?”

Jongdae tries to wave away the fluttering in his chest and blinks faster to compensate for it. He hopes that Yixing won’t make some sort of obscene noise in the background.

“Let’s.”

They sit across from each other in hard chairs at another table - the comfy armchairs and side tables are too familiar for the number of words they’ve exchanged. The steam rising from their cups adds a slight veil between them, so Jongdae takes a little extra time to let the boy’s features soak into his memory: eyes crinkling in pleasure as he sips his (too) sweet drink, broad yet lean shoulders hunching slightly so he can hold the cup with both hands, tongue slowly licking his lips after he swallows. Jongdae takes a deep breath and tries not to drink his own coffee too quickly. It still burns.

“I’m sorry for causing a disturbance and bothering you yesterday,” the boy smiles sheepishly, more often than not making eye contact with his drink instead of Jongdae.

“No, it really wasn’t much trouble! You’re far from the worst I’ve had to deal with.”

“Still, I feel bad. Even now, I’m still imposing on your time when you’re supposed to be working.”

“Oh please,” Jongdae waves his hand carelessly, almost knocking over his drink. “If not for you being here now, I’d be bullied into scrubbing already clean tables for who knows how long. And you just bought me a free drink, so I’m happy. This isn’t imposing. This is nice.”

“This is nice,” the boy repeats, that shy smile reforming on his face all over again and making Jongdae’s stomach curl just a bit. “I think so too. And oh!” He nearly shifts off his seat from excited embarrassment, and Jongdae has to suppress his smile from growing even more. “My name is Jongin.”

“Jongdae.”

Jongdae has always liked his job. It’s tiring standing up and moving all day, but there’s also some sort of relaxation gained only by steaming milk, pouring coffee, and smelling the aromas of roasted beans and whipped cream mix in the air.

Now, he likes his job even more because almost every day there is Jongin at the counter, skin like creamed coffee and sparkling eyes like espresso, lips still refusing to ask for anything other than a white chocolate mocha. Sometimes their fingers touch when Jongdae hands him the cup, and Jongin’s skin seems even warmer than his voice.

There are times when Jongin leaves soon after ordering, saying he has somewhere to go, but there are more times when he sits and waits for the flow of people to slow down or the end of Jongdae’s shift. Jongdae is usually busy making mixtures of coffee beans, cream, and sugar, but when there’s a break in orders he’ll look up and catch Jongin’s eye within a matter of seconds, and they exchange stupid smiles or waves.

Then they’ll sit together to talk about things and often nothing. Jongin doesn’t initiate the conversations often, so Jongdae will talk about something like how it’s raining too hard outside and that it reminds him of when he was nine years old and had to walk home in a downpour one day because he forgot his bright yellow umbrella. His stories aren’t very interesting, but it’s relaxing to let random things spill out of his mouth like the tap running for too long.

Jongin seems to like it too. He listens to Jongdae with eyes that flutter instead of blinking sleepily, and he often forgets to sip his coffee and cream, only drinking when it’s too hot when he first gets it or when he realizes that it’s almost cold. Even if it does get cold, Jongin doesn’t need to ask Jongdae to give him a free refill or at least extra whipped cream.

(Jongdae just hopes that Jongin won’t be even more childishly cute and smear whipped cream on his upper lip, or else it’ll be really difficult to not kiss it off of him.)

Sometimes Minseok and Yixing (and Baekhyun too when he actually comes to work) make gross kissy noises or give him funny looks, but in return Jongdae makes obscene hand gestures at them under the counter while smiling at customers. They probably whisper at him behind his back when he stares off into steam and space, but that’s okay because Jongdae has better things to think about.

He wonders if Jongin smells anything like coffee or possibly white chocolate because he drinks so much of it. Does Jongin taste like that too, as sweet as his lopsided smiles and clumsy words?
Maybe he should stop thinking.

“Hyung, isn’t your shift over by now?” Jongdae looks up from the coffee beans he’s roasting and sees Jongin standing off to the side, out of the way but still looking for a little attention.

“You’re so impatient.” Jongdae stops what he’s doing, grabs a can of whipped cream and walks towards Jongin. “Here. Open your mouth. This’ll keep you busy, won’t it?”

Jongin takes a second to realize the joke, and then he laughs, warm and husky and strong enough that his eyes crinkle shut. Seizing the opportunity, Jongdae sprays the whipped cream into Jongin’s open mouth, and the laughing quickly turns into sputtering - Jongin because his mouth is full, and Jongdae because he’s laughing so hard that no sound leaves his lips.

“Hey,” Jongdae says one day as they sit in the armchairs, Jongdae with his legs crossed and Jongin curled up with both feet on the cushion. “The weather today sucks. Let’s talk about the worst things that have ever happened to us.” He sees the suddenly petrified look on Jongin’s face and adds hastily, “or just something that sucked.

I’ll start. High school was utter shit, and I didn’t even go to one of the elite schools. I tried at first, but it became so hard and ruthless that it wasn’t worth giving it all. I never completely gave up, but it was enough that I didn’t get into university.” Jongdae laughs it off, trying not to let his voice or his fingers tremble too much. “It’s not so bad now, since I like my job, but it was terrible when I first got the news. My mother smiled and said it was okay too, but I don’t want to know how disappointed she must have felt. Yeah. You go.”

Jongin swallows and then takes a sip of his coffee like he forgot to do it the first time. The pause in the air seems gentle, but Jongdae wonders how much tension is hiding in it. What Jongin hides in him.

“It happened a few years ago for me too. I... loved a man and somehow he loved me back. We had grown up as neighbors, and we were the perfect boys to our mothers who compared their sons to each other. But he was too nice to be jealous of me, and he was too wonderful for me to be jealous of him.” He takes another deep breath before continuing more quietly like a broken wind. “It sounds nice, doesn’t it? Being in love. But what’s worse? Having someone taken away from you in an instant, when no one was expecting it and no one could say goodbye? Or everyone knowing that someone will leave and being able to see them decline and be in more and more pain each day closer to death?

Death is so fast yet so slow, and I could see it in his face each day as he tried to smile it away in those ugly blue hospital gowns. Joonmyun-hyung looked so tiny, even tinier than before” and now Jongin is crying, tears trickling down his cheeks and fingers and into his coffee, and Jongdae gets up to wrap his arms around the sad boy’s shoulders. “But he never even complained about the fabric being itchy. But I knew it was. I held his hand every day until he died from that fucking cancer eating away at him, and all anyone could say was ‘I’m sorry.’ I didn’t want to hear it, because I was the sorriest person of all. Sorry hyung for not being better for you. Even now, I’m still sorry," he gasps. "Look, I’m making a mess in the middle of your work all over again. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Jongin. I shouldn’t have suggested this to talk about. You don’t have to listen to me. I’m so stupid. They were right for rejecting me!” Jongdae tries to laugh, but he’s crying and he’s pulling attention to himself and he’s terrible. He wraps his arms around Jongin tighter, hoping the shaking will stop.

“No, hyung, stop. Stop. It’s okay. You’re great. It’s my fault for saying those things. I just need some more coffee,” he mumbles.

By coffee, Jongdae knows he means mostly whipped cream, and when he gives it to Jongin the teary-eyed boy smiles gratefully in return.

Everyone is sad in slightly different ways, but right now Jongdae and Jongin share a certain understanding of each other that might just mean they’re both happy, or at least not sad for the same reason: each other.

By now, Jongin is familiar enough with Jongdae that he knows when the older boy closes up shop, so Jongdae’s not surprised when the doorbell tinkles and Jongin walks in even though hours are over.

“Hey Jongin, did you eat yet?” Jongdae asks without looking up from cleaning the counter.

Jongin doesn’t answer except for slamming his palms on the counter in a strangely familiar way.

“Jongin? Is something wrong?”

“You like me, don’t you?” Jongin’s voice is instantly different; the edges are rougher from alcohol and there are slurs between his syllables like they’re dancing to music without a beat.

A flush spreads up Jongdae’s neck and cheeks, and hopefully it’s too dark to be visible. “Of course, Jongin, how long have I been making you coffee and asking you about the weather-“

“God, everyone uses that kind of excuse and you expect me to believe it? ‘Like’ only means one thing at this point, and everyone knows it,” Jongin growls the words out in a lower pitch than normal, and it’s unexpectedly arousing.

Jongdae swallows. Jongin’s leaning closer across the counter now and the scarlet lining his eyes matches his full lips. Everything Jongin is pulling Jongdae in even though he prefers the smell of coffee in the air over alcohol.

“We’re not teenagers anymore, so let’s not be stupid,” Jongin slurs again, and the atmosphere is dense and burning even in the dark. Without warning, Jongin stops leaning against the counter and hoists himself over it in a surprisingly fluid motion despite his intoxication.

Jongdae thinks he’s already intoxicated before Jongin grabs the front of his shirt and roughly pulls him in. Jongin kisses all of the snarky side comments and pointless stories out of Jongdae’s mouth and swallows a part of him that probably will never come back. Jongin’s hot breath, Jongin’s fingers on his shoulders and back, Jongin’s nose against his. It’s all too much and Jongdae doesn’t know how much longer he can breathe.

“Jongin,” he gasps, pulling back, and only then does he realize his hands are in Jongin’s hair. “Not - not here. I just cleaned. My place. We can.”

Jongin exhales breathily in assent, and even without words he manages to make Jongdae lose almost all rationality.

They manage to take the subway and walk back safely, but nearly the whole time Jongin has locked his arms around Jongdae’s waist and his chin on Jongdae’s shoulder. The minute they step inside the door of Jongdae’s small apartment, Jongin spins him around so that they’re pressed against each other and their breaths heat each other’s cheeks.

“Shit,” Jongdae whispers just before Jongin takes him again, fingers roughly gliding up his sides and teeth and tongue biting scarlet into his lips once again. His shoulders ache from repeatedly banging into the wall behind him, but it only makes him want to push Jongin harder. He shoves Jongin away from him and then grabs him to pull him back in, furiously kissing and marking scarlet into the smooth coffee of his neck and relishing the heated gasp that Jongin lets out.

Jongin’s fingers are tangled in Jongdae’s belt loops but his touch is tight and scorching around Jongdae’s waist, and it’s already too hot with their chests pressed together and their thighs nearly mixed up. They barely have time to breathe, but many of their exhales are tainted with variations of “fuck” and “no, fuck me.”

Somehow they finally make it into Jongdae’s bedroom and they practically rip each other’s clothing off. Jongdae thinks he’s probably more intoxicated than Jongin is, for the sight of Jongin flushed and pleading spread out on white sheets under him is so fucking beautiful that Jongdae is practically reeling. He can’t do anything about it except hope that he can tell Jongin some portion of all his emotions through his lips and teeth against Jongin’s skin and fingers bruising and brushing their way through every centimeter of Jongin’s body.

He finally passes out after Jongin too has nearly lost his voice from gasping and crying out. The two of them are hot and bare under the sheets, completely tangled up in each other and messy, but this is them.

He has the sheets curled tightly around him, but it is cold when he wakes up.
Jongdae has never been one to need much sleep, and dawn has just started peeking through the windows when his eyes fully open.

Everything is bare and pale with morning light, especially the spot next to him. Jongin is gone. Already.

Jongdae looks several times, but there is no note and no call or text. He adds more sugar and cream to his coffee than normal, but it tastes bitterer than any other drink he’s had.

“Jongdae, are you okay?” Yixing frowns at him.

“I’m fine,” Jongdae snaps back and instantly feels bad, for Yixing genuinely seems to care.

“You don’t look like it. Here, I made you a cup of tea. It’ll be better for your nerves than the caffeine in coffee,” Yixing says, sliding the cup to him across the counter. “Did something happen with Jongin?

“Doesn’t tea have caffeine in it too,” Jongdae mutters as he sips it anyways. “Ugh, it’s too hot.”

“You can talk to us about it if you want to, you know,” Yixing poses thoughtfully. “We’re pretty stupid but we’re not always assholes and we can listen if we put our minds to it.”

“Oh hey, there’s a customer you should go take care of. See you later, Yixing.”

“Wait, Jongdae, there’s nobody there, where are you going-“

Jongdae’s not entirely stupid, so he’s not surprised that Jongin breaks his routine and doesn’t come back to the coffee shop. He doesn’t respond to Jongdae’s texts and calls with the obscene amount of emoticons and abbreviations he usually uses. Still, Jongdae can’t help glancing at the door every so often, waiting for the bell hanging above to ring even a few weeks later.

The fraction of hope that Jongdae still has is irrational. White chocolate mochas aren’t that hard to find, and neither are one night stands.

Jongdae asks Minseok to make him a white chocolate mocha. It smells wonderful, but the taste is disgustingly saccharine and he can’t drink more than a sip of it. Even so, the flavor sits on his tongue and refuses to go away despite the ten other cups of coffee he drinks.

Jongdae doesn’t feel like doing much these days, so he sits in one of the armchairs in the coffee shop when it’s not his shift and sits with some pretentious book he was supposed to read in high school but never understood. At least it makes his head hurt in a different way, even if it doesn’t stop him from taking note of every person who walks through the door.

He gets halfway through the book before he realizes that he has his feet on the chair cushion and he’s all bent up just how Jongin used to be. The armchair across from him was empty, so he had unconsciously tried to fill Jongin’s place. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Coffee will probably help. Or maybe the caffeine really is getting to him. He’s seeing things all of a sudden. Jongin’s suddenly appeared in the armchair across from him, and it’s almost like it used to be except for Jongin’s trembling lower lip. Jongdae laughs. Reading books again has improved his imagination a lot already.

“Hey Yixing, where’s that tea you had earlier? Can I have a cup?” Jongdae calls out.

“Sure. Jongin, do you want one too?”

“No thanks,” the not-so-imaginary apparition mumbles, more pathetic sounding than Jongdae’s ever heard Jongin. Jongdae splutters. Jongin is really here?

“What the fuck,” Jongdae says quietly to no one in particular.

“Here you go,” Yixing says cheerily as he sets the tea down in front of Jongdae and leaves, winking at Jongin for some reason.

“What is going on,” Jongdae says, refusing to look Jongin in the eye.

“I - I can explain. Maybe. If you’ll let me and if I can talk.”

“Shoot,” Jongdae says, crossing his arms. He accidentally looks at Jongin, and Jongin is looking at him so sadly with wide eyes like a pitiful puppy. Already Jongdae’s heart completely melts too easily.

"You-- you know about Joonmyun already. Well, when we were at your place, I kept thinking. Of him." Jongdae lets himself stare into Jongin's eyes and the trembling contours of his face, and he realizes he missed Jongin more than he thought. Especially his voice, even if he's nervous and stuttering. "You were fantastic, but your size and a lot of what you did was a little reminder of him and my dreams were so confusing and I woke up and--"

"It's okay. Shh." Jongin looks at him funnily with a strange glaze covering his eyes, and Jongdae takes a deep breath as he takes Jongin's hands in his.

"It's okay if you loved him before, and it's okay if you still love him now. I won't be angry or upset. It's okay to have more than person in your heart -- I'd say that most people do." Jongdae squeezes Jongin's fingers, trying to ease their shaking. "But what I'd like to ask is if you could give me some time. Joonmyun can't love you right now the same way I might be able to, and even if Joonmyun is still part of you I'm hoping that you can still give some part of yourself to me. I thought you did before. Can we keep that up at least?"

Jongin swallows, and it looks like he’s trying to keep a few tears down as well.

“I’m not asking or expecting you to forget him at all. But do you think you can remember me too?”

Jongin’s eyes are shining as he looks back up at Jongdae, blinking quickly. “Hyung. Do you think I could forget anything about you?”

“Yeah. What’s my shoe size?”

Jongin panics for a minute before Jongdae grabs him and pulls him into a hug. The younger boy is as warm as Jongdae remember, and he still smells sweet somewhat like all the whipped cream he consumes. It’s comforting, and Jongdae thinks he’d like to call it home someday if not right now.

“God, we’re so stupid.”

“Yes. We’re human.”

No matter how hard he tries, Jongdae cannot make Jongin an early riser, and so he is always the one to get up and make the coffee. Dawn is pale on the walls and the sheets, and Jongdae takes an extra minute to admire the morning sheen on Jongin’s skin as he sleeps soundly, clutching the fabric in his fists like a small child. Without thinking, Jongdae reaches out to smooth the tangles in Jongin’s soft hair, and Jongin unconsciously sighs at the touch.
Soon, the sun rises completely and the coffee is ready. Jongdae’s is black, but eventually it won’t be after Jongin sneaks sugar into it like he always does (“Life is sweet, hyung! Enjoy it!”).
Of course, Jongin’s is half sugar and cream.

Sometimes they sit at the table and drink together, feet bumping and tangling together under the wooden chair legs. Other times they go back to the bed, wrapped in white sheets, steam from their mugs, and each other’s smiles. Regardless of what season it actually is, their room is always warm.

Really, it could be sweltering hot and the sky could be pitch black, but coffee would always taste perfect if Jongdae could drink together with Jongin, one hand around the cup and the other’s fingers intertwined with his.