“Your hand can come from anywhere, isn’t that incredible?” Emma grinned, and tipped her head to the side, soft pink lips pursing in thought.

“It can come from above, and maybe touch my hair,” She murmured, and smiled when your fingers twined through soft strands.

“Perhaps my cheek,” Emma’s hand slid delicately across your arm when you pinched at her, affectionate.

“They’re very warm.” She noted, and her brows knitted in almost imperceptible disappointment.

“Because of your cigarettes.”