Hermione loved museums in general, but she'd never had as pleasant a time at any as she was having right now. Watching Tony lean forward and examine the details of each painting was captivating, and when he came back to her, bumped her shoulder, and whispered something in her ear like, "It's almost as beautiful as you," she'd feel her chest warm and would take his hand in hers and squeeze.
Suddenly, Hermione spotted her favorite section – German postwar – and dragged Tony towards the entrance.
"A little sad, isn't it?"
"It's powerful," she said quietly before dropping his hand and approaching one of the works herself.
It only took a moment before she felt his presence at her side once again. Caught in the emotions the painting brought forth, she rested her head on his shoulder; he wrapped an arm around her and brought her close. "It isn't too much, is it?"
She blinked rapidly. "No. I'm alright."
He answered with a squeeze of her shoulders. She took a deep breath in and released it.
Five things she could see: easy, five paintings. Was that cheating?
Four things she could touch: the coarse texture of her tweed skirt. Tony's heavy arm draped over her shoulders. Her hair as she tried to smooth it down. The heels of her boots causing cramps in her feet.
Three things she could hear: the whispers of a nearby couple discussing a Beuys. The murmur of the crowd beyond the wing's entrance in the lobby. Tony's even breathing.
Two things she could smell. Easy again. Her own perfume and the cologne she got Tony for Christmas.
One thing she could taste.
Taste.
Ah. If she focused, she could still taste the tea from a half hour ago on her tongue.
And then Tony's hand was warm, rough against her own, and she was finally back in the moment.
"Let's get out of here," he said, and she would have followed him anywhere.