The words fall into place as soon as they fall out of Luther's mouth and Allison nearly missteps because of it. She'd said those words. Those exact words. A million years ago, and maybe not even five. Never answered, and never offered again. It's hard to put her fingers on the strike of feelings it brings up. She's not sure she wanted to know it could be touched so carelessly. As part of an act. Like they might have always been.

But Allison doesn't have the leisure to think about it, when Luther starts them moving, and there's jostling and whispering starting to grow, as more people are stepping out from inside the shop and stopping walking on further ends of the sidewalk to watch this newest little streetside entertainment. She tilted her head and lifted her brows just a little at Luther's serious face, like she might have been poking her fingers at just that.

That way he maybe he could regiment himself through it. When she swears some part of her feels like she could start whispering the count she can almost see taking place in his head. The cobbles aren't as forgiving on her stilettos as they are on his dress flats, which she finds a time or two when her balance almost doesn't catch right, but they'd both learned long ago how far up their actual pain threshold from strain was.

But he never lets her fall, and she never lets the possibility flicker through her posture.