The silence that nestles around and against and between them this time feels - different, somehow. Heavier, thicker - like a transition from water to sludge, from sand to turbulent sea. She isn't sure what it means, nor does she have the mental capacity to begin to wax poetic about the possibilities - even if only to herself.

She allows her gaze to more intimately follow the gentle topography of his face - slopes and curves and precipices and valleys, all coming together to create the unique crag around his skull. She catches a glimpse of tiny gold flecks, swirled and encircled by his pupil like a galaxy. She sees the soft pink hue of his lips and - before she can respond to what finally fills the air with sound, the soft pink hue is coming closer until -

Collision.

Contact.

Mind reels, contracts, expands, electrifies as it attempts to re-orient and re-navigate. Muscle memory sparks into existence, and it's only a breath more until her own lips move and push and pull against, with his - allowing herself to be consumed by their softness, willing a hand to trace delicately along the sharp edge of his jaw. A quiet murmur, laced with surprise and acceptance, floats out of her nostrils.