[Not the best reply, but not the worst either--that is, until Taryon takes hold of his hand and his sluggish heart gives one large leap, right into his throat. He feels positively giddy. He smiles at him, like he has for however long now, but now under a new context.]

...I have held countless hands, of all races, genders and ages over all these decades. It was just a routine, I felt nothing every time I slipped their hand into mine. The appeal gone, the way it was written in books meaningless. Wrong.

[He titters softly, taking a small step closer and putting his other hand over Taryon's, holding it in both. It's so warm.]

I finally understand again.