"Yeah," Kavinsky murmured, and gave Newt a soft look, a reassurance, as he headed toward the kitchen. His eyes skated over Newt, a hungry sort of momentary look, but then he was looking at Al, slow and just as easy.

He grabbed Al's hand, leading him into the kitchen. Tea. Tea and groceries. Tea and groceries and then everything would settle and he could tell them what a fiasco everything had been.

But Al's hand felt big and warm and just a little calloused against his own palm, and they'd only just stepped into the kitchen when Kavinsky set the groceries on the counter and shoved himself up against Al. It was harder, now, to lean in and kiss him. Now, he had to wrap his arms around him and practically climb him like a tree.