Kate watches him move because it seems impossible to do anything else. She's always liked how he moves through the world, all elegant and economic grace. Feline. Just that now, it has an air of forbidden about it all. Can look, but you fucked up your chances of touching, girl.

She doesn't disturb the silence, but she is reckless when she takes the mug from him. It'd be all so awkward to try and take it without touching him anyway, awkward and obvious and rude, but Kate doesn't try. More than that, she lets her fingers brush his.

It's a mistake. She knows it is a mistake, because oh, it's like drinking, isn't it? It's never enough. But she's never been consistent with making sensible, level-headed choices.

"Thank you." There's a Ben there, resting in her mouth, wanting to be used. Ben. Benedict.