She's still trying to figure out the physical/emotional thing herself. She's only been vulnerable with him once before last night, on that day he kissed her for the first time. She doesn't like being vulnerable, not least because others don't like it either. He'd burned so hot and then went so cold, flashing from annoyance to remorse, in such a blink that it startled her, and made her feel guilty.

She doesn't know what she's doing, but he doesn't need to know that.


(Just like he doesn't need to know that while he was sleeping she had herself a good cry in the tub when she finally allowed herself to think — about the curse, about her dimming hope for a suitable life, about Doc, about her empty heart.)


She's feeling her way through the dark, hoping he won't notice just how out of her depth she is, how lost she feels. Because, despite all her better senses, it feels good to be looked at again. To be touched. To not have to wake up alone, for the first time in far too long.

Even if it isn't real.



Cradling her chin, a smile spills across her face. She bumps her knee against his, and her bare foot dips under his pants leg.

"Anytime."

She warned him. She gave him every opportunity to back away. Instead, he closed the distance.

Maybe it's a little selfish, trying to fill up an empty space at the expense of someone else.

(It's more than a little.)

Or maybe, somewhere deep down, she's still gripping that hopeful-hearted girl who can't let go of maybe.





maybe it will be different this time.