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Summary
Renjun drifts closer to the glass, his expression shifting to something Donghyuck can't quite read. He raises one hand, presses it flat against the barrier, and holds it there.
Donghyuck hesitates, then sets down his tablet. The cameras are still recording, but the angle is poor from where he sits. If he's careful, if he makes it look casual enough—then.
He stretches, letting his hand brush against the glass as if by accident. For a brief moment, their palms align through the barrier—Renjun's pale and webbed, Donghyuck's human and warm. The glass is cold against his skin, but he swears he can feel something else, like a faint vibration, sound too low to hear.