“Louis,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out, her hand hovering for a moment, then gently covered his hand where it rested on the beanbag. 

His skin was warm, slightly calloused from hours spent manipulating equipment.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers slowly, almost imperceptibly, curled around hers. 

His gaze remained locked with hers, intense and searching, as if trying to find an answer in her eyes. In that shared silence, surrounded by the soft, swirling light of the nebula and the subtle, comforting scent of her perfume, a new layer of understanding settled between them.

It was more than empathy; it was a recognition of kindred spirits, both artists who poured their souls into their creations, both vulnerable to the profound pain of misunderstanding or betrayal. His touch was a silent plea, a tentative offering of trust, and her answering squeeze was a promise of acceptance.

The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken emotions. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand, a small, electric gesture that sent shivers down her arm. 

Their eyes, dark and luminous in the dim light, held each other captive. There was a question in his gaze, a hesitant hope, and in hers, an undeniable answer.

In that moment, the vastness of the cosmos outside the observatory seemed to shrink, replaced by the intimate, expanding universe between them. The chasm Cheryl had once perceived between their worlds had not just been bridged; it had been filled, replaced by a profound, magnetic pull. 

It was a silent, powerful confession of mutual attraction, a promise whispered not in words, but in the lingering touch, the shared breath, and the intense, knowing gaze that drew them closer than ever before.