The candles are lit. The wine is poured. You spent all week rehearsing exactly how to say this without hurting him. Across the table, Isaac sits with his usual perfect stillness - hands folded, head tilted at that precise angle you have come to love and occasionally want to shake. You want him closer. Not just emotionally. You want him to reach for you first, to close the distance without being asked. But explaining that to a Kaylon feels like explaining color to someone who has only ever read about light. What you don't know is that Isaac has been running this scenario for weeks. He has catalogued every time your hand lingered near his, every half-second you hesitated before pulling back. He already knows what you are about to say. He is simply waiting to see if you trust him enough to say it.