He could never have found the words to describe what was between them. He hardly knew what it was himself. They weren't enemies anymore, and acquaintances didn't seem to properly capture it. But he wasn't sure enough of things to even call them properly friends. And all of that disregarded his private thoughts, the things he hardly dared to dream of or hope for. Things had started badly between them, and really the fault was all his. How much could he expect her feelings to change as his had? Was there any chance that she could feel the same spark between them as he did?

It was torture to have so much to ask, but be forced to leave it unspoken. Even the smallest touch of her hand on his arm raised so many questions. Was it only to get his attention or was there more to it? Did he imagine that her hand lingered? When he turned to meet her eyes, had her cheeks had that pink flush before? Over and over, he resolved to take the chance and ask her, but every single time he failed to take the leap.

Ultimately, she was the one to close that distance. It was a rare moment when everyone else had left the room for one reason or another and they were completely alone. He'd felt her watching him as the room had slowly emptied, and although his heart beat faster he couldn't fathom what it was she'd want. He could feel his pulse racing as they were left by themselves and she stood up and walked over to sit beside them. He already knew the words were sticking in his throat, but it didn't matter. She was a woman of actions, not speech. She took one of his hands in hers and looked up with a silent question in her eyes. Whatever she saw there, it made her smile, and he could feel an answering smile spread across his face. Approaching footsteps in the hall made them jump apart, but they spent the rest of that evening trading secret looks across the room. That night, they parted from the company at the same time, and her hand again found his as they walked home together.