Her bitten lip was evidence enough to know that he'd made her laugh, even inwardly - and that was as satisfying a feeling as any could be. Tybalt knew, certainly, that he couldn't be quiet, at least not naturally... but in fact, it was something he admired about her. That she - could bear to be in her own company, in her own head. That she didn't need all the recognition, attention, applause that so many Gryffindors did; her bravery had never been the affected kind, put-on and postured, but something more innate. He didn't think confidence was a thing she could be coached into - knew as well as anyone that her lack of it was downright charming - but he wished she might realise someday that she had far more to be confident about, with all her compassion and caring and cleverness, than most people did.
Not that she didn't sound entirely comfortable, entirely confident, in her next comment. The teasing could be a challenge, but judging by her tone, they both knew he wasn't above cheating that challenge, if they took conversation off the table.
So Tyb just beamed at her, bright and knowing. Already pointedly silent, he brushed his hand over her collarbone, coming to rest it at the nape of her neck to better tilt his head towards her and close the distance. (The temptation, with his fingers as close as they were, to weave his fingers into her hair and free it from its more formal style than usual, was extreme.) For that matter, the very moment he kissed her - as much as they had done it before - he always wondered why he hadn't done it sooner; why had they wasted time with teasing and pleasantries when they could have been making out?
(He did want to just talk to her too, he swore. But this - this was also good, this was great, he couldn't complain about this. Conversation could wait.)
Not that she didn't sound entirely comfortable, entirely confident, in her next comment. The teasing could be a challenge, but judging by her tone, they both knew he wasn't above cheating that challenge, if they took conversation off the table.
So Tyb just beamed at her, bright and knowing. Already pointedly silent, he brushed his hand over her collarbone, coming to rest it at the nape of her neck to better tilt his head towards her and close the distance. (The temptation, with his fingers as close as they were, to weave his fingers into her hair and free it from its more formal style than usual, was extreme.) For that matter, the very moment he kissed her - as much as they had done it before - he always wondered why he hadn't done it sooner; why had they wasted time with teasing and pleasantries when they could have been making out?
(He did want to just talk to her too, he swore. But this - this was also good, this was great, he couldn't complain about this. Conversation could wait.)
