[The last time, for Ken, was more than two years ago before his mother's death. He didn't have anybody he was close enough to after that. He doesn't really know what to make of it. Sure, he took the initiative, but now that she's reciprocated--
It's warm. He'd forgotten how warm people's hands could be, and he's reminded of cool autumn nights when he would help his mother hold the grocery bags with one hand while clasping hers with his other. He always thought that was warmer than wearing gloves. But he wonders -- Kasumi's hand feels smaller than he remembers his mother's being. Did that simply mean she was smaller, or had Ken grown? If she were still alive, would it feel smaller too? Would he even still hold her hand? Would he notice?
Something wells up and a lump rises in his throat as the questions only remind him that he'll never know, and as he clenches his teeth together to keep silent, he holds tightly onto her hand without thinking, too. It takes him a couple seconds to respond, at which point he mumbles,] I do.
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It's warm. He'd forgotten how warm people's hands could be, and he's reminded of cool autumn nights when he would help his mother hold the grocery bags with one hand while clasping hers with his other. He always thought that was warmer than wearing gloves. But he wonders -- Kasumi's hand feels smaller than he remembers his mother's being. Did that simply mean she was smaller, or had Ken grown? If she were still alive, would it feel smaller too? Would he even still hold her hand? Would he notice?
Something wells up and a lump rises in his throat as the questions only remind him that he'll never know, and as he clenches his teeth together to keep silent, he holds tightly onto her hand without thinking, too. It takes him a couple seconds to respond, at which point he mumbles,] I do.