:༅｡ᴛɪᴀ's ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ☕ He offers his hand—the one covered with dirt, dried blood, and multiple lacerations. I stare down at it but make no move to take it. “Ah! Sorry.” He wipes his palm on his equally soiled jeans, rubbing it back and forth before he offers it again. “I don’t touch…