Tori grabs his hand and pulls him towards the theater - "The Nutcracker, André! I've wanted to see this since I was a little girl." – all smiles and bright eyes, the essence of giddiness. André smiles and lets himself get dragged along, focusing on the feel of her hand in his. It's so thin and delicate, small with non-calloused fingertips. Warm and soft and perfectly fitted with his.
She pulls it away when they reach the line. To his surprise, he finds himself reaching for it again without thought. She looks up at him, mouth in a small "o" of surprise, eyes sparkling with happiness. She says nothing, but doesn't let go, instead leaning closer to him and focusing back on the line in front of them. Her cheeks are tinted red – definitely not from the cold – and he is sure his are as well.
They hold hands all through the play, their smiles never leaving their faces.