At the touch, he looked at the hand on his wrist for a long time. He’s not shocked or alarmed by the act – it’s all right, he supposes. Vance’s hand is warm. And if it felt intimate, what does Robbie know about that really? He can’t even blame it on Vance, when he himself has a habit of impromptu late-starting sleepovers.

But the wrist is too much. It’s part of the forearm that he regularly took his stress and anxiety out on and far too close to the thin, paler skin on the underside of his wrist that he used to stare at forever before leaving it alone.

He doesn’t want Vance to touch that and get that filth on him. Robbie shifts his hand until it’s under Vance’s. He hated it when people touch his scars. Vance is a patient in the space hospital. Holding hands is appropriate. “I believe in you and that you believe it. I guess I’m working on the rest, but I didn't leave enough room up on that pedestal for both of us to fit.”