She immediately leans into it, the weight of his palm against her. It's a foundation of sorts and Mal craves it, wants to keep it hers now, when she's so lost and unsure of herself. She tips her head to the side, looks at him for a long moment, before offering up a small, tentative smile.

The kettle on the stove whistles and Mal almost flinches but catches herself, mouth forming a little 'o' of surprise, like she'd forgotten. She pulls it off the counter hastily, placing it very carefully down like that in itself is very important to her.