It feels natural enough, not too casual, not strange enough to draw his attention on its own. But he's keeping it in mind, a slow count of things he can't piece together just yet. In time, whatever it is will come to light-- or it'll turn out that it's just him being out of step. Either way.

Her steps quicken but he hangs back just a little, letting her have that lead. Already he's spent a fair amount of time standing there staring out into space, thinking of everything left behind. It's beautiful, no doubt about that-- meaningless, in another way. The distance is beyond his ability to comprehend.

Coming up behind her to look out, he sets a hand on the small of her back-- a gesture that would have been familiar and safe at home, he thinks, and he wants that sense of connection.

It's just habit that his fingertips fall perfectly over the leaves inked there.