[Arenvald’s fingers lace with his own, a gesture that has Connor adjusting his own grip to accommodate, digits slotting into the open space between.]

It’s…

[His look is one of a man trying to describe a feeling that’s beyond his experience, like trying to speak in a foreign tongue when he doesn’t know the language. The consequence, at least, is easy enough to recount: the pleasurable feeling increases, spreads across his form from where it seems to originate in his core. Warm, in a way that’s more than mere external data inputted across the tract of sensors embedded into his body, all zeroes and ones trying to describe an organic experience to a synthetic being.

Instead, it’s more like an entity of its own. A wave passing across him. Caught in the fluid contours of his working bioccomponents when he looks at Arenvald, making something in his chest stutter in unexpected malfunction, even if all reports show nothing wrong, everything functioning optimally, it must be a consequence of Moonlacing, there’s no other explanation—

Connor swallows, looking faintly distracted. A learned gesture, that belonging to a human more than it has any right to an android.]

…nice. Stronger than before. But I don’t think it’s something I could keep doing for a long period of time.