Ozymandias felt a twinge of exasperation at having been misunderstood, but as he returned her kiss he had to wonder if it hadn't been intentional. She must have known he wasn't merely talking about avoiding a reaction, but rather wondering at what the reaction implied. (Or, fine; it wasn't that she must have known. As intimate as each of their interactions felt, she didn't know him well enough to discern whether he was the sort who would only care about the relationship to the extent that it impacted him or whether he was more considerate. The letter he'd sent and their conversation at the opera were the only pieces of evidence in his favor, but those might not have been indicative of his general character.

And, if he were being honest, maybe it wasn't indicative of his general character. If someone else had been in his shoes, a friend relaying the story rather than him living through it, Oz knew what advice he would give them: cut and run. This is too messy. You can get the same thing elsewhere for less trouble, and nevermind her feelings. In any other setting he would have only been focused on the impact to himself, and he'd bruised women's hearts before for less. What was different about this — about her?)

In any case, the message behind her kiss was clear: she didn't want to talk about her fragility. He couldn't blame her. If he had exposed that kind of weakness, he wouldn't want to talk about it either. Particularly not with someone he hardly knew.

He returned the kiss; ran his fingers lightly down the curve of her neck. "We'll think of something," he murmured. A dismissal of the topic, perhaps an implicit apology for bringing it up.

---