Ernesto Mela sat in the dark hookup room. The space was pitch black, so complete that nothing could be seen at all, not even the outline of his own hands in front of his face.
It was something he had done in his free time since the day he entered the walls, and where most of his gold cards went. The air felt thick and warm, carrying the faint scent of clean linen and something floral from whoever had been in here before him.
"Hey," he said, voice low.
"Hey," a female voice answered from somewhere across the small room. Soft. A little hesitant. Neither of them could see the other. That was the point. A full conversation with a stranger, faces unknown, no judgment, no expectations.
"Mind if I feel your hands?" Ernesto asked.
"Sure."
Their hands found each other in the dark, fingers brushing tentatively before settling together. Hers were soft, warm, a little smaller than his.
"Your hands are soft," he said.
"Really?"
