Zirafell blinks up at the angel, finding himself invited to thread the insurmountable trek of moving himself into a chair right next to his own. To share a space, even closer.

"Well." In a tone that, while still teasing, as is usual for him, is softer than ever before. "No need to be so formal about it."

He lets go only to set aside his book, without worrying about returning to it at a later date. Moves along with the angel, careful, giving the moment a level of delicateness for reasons fully unseen, sitting next to him without ever unlinking their hands again.