There is a sadness about Kavinsky that draws Ash in. A loneliness that feels familiar. Something haunted in his eyes. When he takes hold of his hand it isn't to comfort him. Ash is a physical man, very affectionate. Touch is an easy way to confess how he feels without saying a word.

"Maybe not as impossible as you think." Ash glances down at their twined hands and smiles softly. "That's not a no, Kavinsky."

He looks around. "Where the fuck are we?"