Oh. As soon as Arthur stepped closer and kissed his cheek, Malachi was distracted, his own twisted sleeves forgotten. His hands found the edges of the doctor’s vest at his shoulders, idly rubbing the material between his index fingers and his thumbs.

Without lifting his gaze from the vest and how lovely it looked on Arthur’s body, he reminded himself to speak.

“The gardens?”

It sounded like a question, given the upward intonation of his voice, but it was not meant to be.

Smoothing down the vest across his shoulders, Malachi gave them a pat and then let his arms rest back at his sides.

“Ah- yes. The gardens,” he said, decisive this time. “Come along then. Shall I show you where I grew up?”

Despite knowing he would have to let go once they’d passed through the door, Malachi reached for Arthur’s hand on his way to it.