Work Text:
“Put out your hand.”
A defiant wrinkle formed on Amadeo’s brow before he complied, the stretch of his arm revealing the delicate wrist beneath the cuff of his dirty smock.
Santino scooped a rat from his pocket and placed it on his own palm, extending it until his fingers overlap with Amadeo’s. The rat was still for a long moment before it briefly groomed its nose, sniffed about, and scampered on to Amadeo, nosing at his sleevecuff.
“I can feel her mind, she's curious,” Amadeo pronounced solemnly, but smiled when the rat scurried up his sleeve, shivering with suppressed giggles.