Dylan laughs. "No, you don't have to eat it, I promise."

He reaches out his hand to meet Nico's, but doesn't close the distance — not with fingertips, anyway. An inky tendril extends from his palm, arching over the small gap between them and settling in Nico's palm as a glob a little bigger than a quarter.

Dylan closes his eyes and concentrates, willing the little glob to sink into Nico's palm, feeling the first hints of awareness of Nico's psyche as he does so. Dylan tries to reel his thoughts in, wrapping them tight, not wanting to pry or intrude any more than he needs to.