Before heading back, they replaced the wet handkerchief which had fallen on the floor. Thanks to that, Nabel and Ronée were able to keep their hands joined the whole way. Nabel stared alternately at their hands and Ronée’s face.
“You’re not hurt?”
Nabel nodded in response. The one she should really be worrying about was herself. Nabel’s lips pressed into a thin line. He did not hold hands with others. Nabel looked at Ronée’s hand again as he dwelled on that thought. He now disliked his own hand.
Just as the rest of his dead family had.
That was Nabel’s vow that shackled himself: though such a time may never come, to never betray Ronée, who had been kind to him.
“Ah…?” Ronée’s eyes widened while Nabel smiled. Their hands met once more. Ronée did not know it, but her hand was the first hand Nabel had ever held on his own free will in his life.