[Sunny reaches first, and that’s all the push Basil needs. The gordian mass of his own anxious hands frays at once, and he grabs for Sunny’s other sleeve, mirroring. It’s tight.]

But what, Sunny…? [Basil’s mouth is still pulled back, tense. His next words are hissed, hushed. He thinks he’s going to cry.] There’s nowhere else for us, is there?