Garrus' mandibles flickered as Shepard hummed quietly to herself, head nestled against his shoulder. They were both looking over their own datapads, not engaging in any particular conversation and neither did they feel inclined to move. This wasn't an uncommon way to spend their evenings, especially after the more strenuous missions.
Bored by the third report of a lost package in the Traverse, Garrus let his gaze drift elsewhere. Eventually he fixated on Shepard's hand resting on his leg. Her fingers were curved slightly, drumming absent-mindedly just above his knee.
He stopped, studying the motion. Her fingers and palm were calloused, but the skin was still pale and dotted with freckles. Her fingernails were short and filed; she cut them recently. She had small hands compared to other humans on the ship, and especially compared to Garrus'. Her gun gave her blisters the first few weeks of coming back from the dead, but eventually she got used to her hands being not-quite-big-enough. That was one of the things Miranda didn't "upgrade," and Shepard silently thanked her for it.
Garrus continued to watch her, though he didn't really understand why her hand was so fascinating. It just seemed so foreign to him. He looked down at his own three digits, then back to her five. Human couples always seemed to be holding hands in the vids he had watched, but he wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. It didn't seem like it'd work considering their difference in number of limbs nor did it seem like it'd be very comfortable. But Joker said hand-holding was one of the biggest parts of human relationships, even if Shepard never mentioned wanting to try it.
Shepard hummed again as she reached to pull her hair behind her ear. It was tied over her shoulder in a loose braid instead of her usual knot, but it seemed that no matter how she wore her hair, strands would always be falling into her face. Garrus sighed quietly in contentment as her hand returned to his leg, quickly replacing the emptiness that had lingered there.
'Spirits, Shepard, I'm crazy about you.' Subvocals thrumming at the bottom of his throat, he let the thought resonate for a few moments. He couldn't help but marvel at every feature about her— from the hair constantly in her face to the way her hands gripped tightly around a gun to every last finger and toe she owned. He couldn't convince himself to care that she was human if he tried.
He suddenly moved his hand over to hers and shyly tried to fit them together. Shepard looked up at him, confused, but it quickly faded as she realized what he was trying to do. She spread her palm flat against his, smiling gently to herself as she slipped two fingers between each of his own. Garrus almost wanted to pull away because it felt so awkward to him; turians never had the propensity to hold hands, and even less so without gloves. But if this was important to Shepard, then it was important to him.
She squeezed his hand lightly as she adjusted her fingers with his. He squeezed back and leaned over to her, clumsily kissing her on the cheek. These days, it seemed like nothing was going to go right between them—like it didn't matter how much he wanted it to work because nothing would ever just fit.
But he forgot about that. It was gone within seconds when she leaned up to place her own kiss on his mouth, and before she could pull away he put his free hand behind her head and she let him keep her there. The discomfort between their hands melted away and nothing seemed to really matter anymore. Because when his fingers tightened around hers and she couldn't help but smile into the kiss, he knew he was where he wanted—no, needed—to be.