“Hey.” Akiva reached for his hand, fingers dragging across Eitan’s. A nothing kind of touch, except for how it wasn’t. Eitan had thought his hands were desensitized from wearing batting gloves, from the callus-generating task of fielding baseballs for a living. Maybe no one had touched him right in that spot, in just that way, before. Certainly not in a way he could remember, and he was certain he’d remember that. He breathed purposefully.
