Harry hadn’t noticed at first. It took him a while to get used to you - to get used to anyone - perched at his side with their fingers intertwined with his as one. Holding your hand hadn’t been anything he shied away from, of course, but he would miss the subtle way your fingers twirled and danced around the gold edges of his rings when you were nervous. Your face got droopy too, and this he noticed a few times later, but every time your face felt hot to the touch with anxiety, you pressed your nose into Harry’s shoulder or neck until you felt better; your fingers absentmindedly played with the rings.
The night Harry called you out on it, your body language had become tense in a group full of people. Your palm was sweating against his, insistent on breaking you two apart, but you wouldn’t allow it to pull you away from him. Your fingers tightened around his for a moment before your fingers loosened and found the back of his hand, stroking up towards the ring he always wore in your favor (in case this happened):
"What’s wrong?" Harry mouthed by your ear, voice low and soothing against the curved outline of your earlobe. "Are there too many people, love?"
You didn’t want to ask him how he knew. You had always been aware that somehow he would find you, even as trapped in your mind as you were, and would break all the barriers down.
Without waiting for your response, Harry’s easy smile slipped. No other words were needed; he simply curled his hands upwards, palm turned towards the ceiling, letting the gold accents of his ring catch in the lighting. Your fingers felt at it, your chin resting just by Harry’s shoulder, and he watched as your body relaxed the more you felt the cool metal of his ring brush at the heat of your skin.
Once he caught onto it, Harry found himself doing the same thing, but for himself. When you weren’t there (sometimes because you were back at home, cuddled underneath the duvet when he should have been there with his arms around you and his breath fanning across your cheeks), his fingers took your place, nervously scratching at the silver and gold jewelry that were placed just before his knuckles. The fidgeting could have been considered a bad habit, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, and he all too often wished you were there to calm him down and brush your hand against his.