"Alas," says Susan. Janet is so warm in front of her, and she wants - she wants -

But since they've already waited longer to fall into bed together than essentially anyone Susan has ever been with, she almost thinks she'd rather their official third date come on a night when Janet didn't start out - well, sad.

Instead of voicing this, she tucks a little strand of hair behind Janet's ear, and strokes it back, running her thumb gently over Janet's temple. She'd felt such a queer rush of feeling with Lancelot while they were dancing, such a reluctance to pull back and leave him, and now that she's in this little bubble with Janet she's feeling it again. It's a little more fragile, now, more tender, but there's an undeniable similarity in the anticipatory tightness in her chest and the way she wants to just - melt, in a way, now into Janet's touch and earlier into Lancelot's. She smiles at Janet then, small, genuine, and faintly tremulous.