Aidan shoots her a last wary glance, corner of his mouth pulling at the vague outline of a smile, and then he folds: shifting against the wall to get his feet under him, fingers knitting simply enough with hers. "Ready."

He pushes off just a half beat after her, tucking his head and letting her momentum carry him. It's easy, weightless - and he has to throw out a hand to avoid them running headlong into the couch, which sends their trajectory slightly too high up, giving them a destination a little closer to the ceiling than to the far wall.