[ He can't help the low sound in the back of his throat, the anxiety that had infused him shifting into something warmer, and for the first time in days he barely even registers the music. Barely notices how tired he is. He hadn't actually allowed himself to consider this a real possibility - barely even allowed it to himself as a fantasy - and yet she's kissing him and it feels so perfect that it aches.

And for a moment, for the briefest moment, he thinks maybe he had it wrong. That this whole time he's been killing himself wanting someone that didn't want him, it had been something far closer to mutual all along. That maybe he'd just been an idiot, and refused to acknowledge what was in front of him.

One hand is still entwined tightly with hers, and he squeezes it as she deepens the kiss, as he responds in kind, melting into it as his hand gently cups her face, gently pulling her closer.