She looks at him - this dear little man who she likes so much, with his earnest expression and his sweet touches - for a moment, her own face terribly still. She's back to feeling like he's being too gentle with her - like he should, instead, give her something abrasive, some friction she can catch herself against. Then she blinks and pulls away to take the few steps to the treeline, where she stares over the lake for another moment, watching as one of the last of deciduous leaves falls and floats on the water, trying simultaneously to prod at that tangle of thoughts and emotions at her core while also taking care not to disturb or dislodge anything.

But she does not care for being so far from him. So she spins on her heel again, returns, and pulls him into a tight, wordless embrace.