The necklace feels warm from his pocket and their hands. It'd be a lie to say there wasn't a weight to it: she wonders if his mother would approve, were she alive. It sits too high for her to see it when she glances down, but her fingers do graze over it delicately, like she's afraid it might break.

"Well?" She asks, turning around to face him. Looking at him, she wants to kiss him again and again and again. There will be plenty of time for that later, of course, but the urge is absurdly strong. She settles for reaching for his hands again, both to steady him and for the simple pleasure of contact.