Kizuna. [ He offers with a stunning lack of pretense, given that his initial flourish into the situation had, admittedly (even if only to himself), been full of it. There's information to be gained from it, from plying the ache of displacement with a sense of familiarity worn too well to occur between strangers.

His little trick, flayed open by the fluttering edge of the same starry inclination. ] Resonance is a pretty name for it.

[ More conversational than he thinks he has a right to be after glancing so violently off the mirror of her heart. Now, he's confronted with the nature of reflection. Like placing his hand to the gloss of the surface and finding a gap in between, an indicator that one can see from both sides. But Kizuna has never been content with barriers, with shying back from an obstacle when something he wants to know is on the other side, and perhaps the way he'd defaulted to touch implicates him of it. Just touch, nothing more. What else is there left to do but reach though, shards, distance, and all? ]

Were you trying to understand how I felt? Or was it something more?

[ Inspection of her cuffed wrist through, Kizuna pauses; in the space of a breath, he bows his head to brush a kiss over the flats of her knuckles. He lets go after that, urging her to withdraw her hand back through the partition with a gentle push. ]

That woman in here with you was benefitting from it. Resonance.