The difference in the way he handled her was painfully obvious, especially to him. Rather than his arms falling around her waist, his hands slid from her face to around her neck, gently moving the hair so he could hold her head in place. This was not the sort of kiss he was used to, nor was it was he felt confident to lead, but he did so out of necessity; she'd practically melted against him, him larger frame supporting hers as she grabbed at his robes.

He pulled back long enough to catch a break, not bothering enough to pull himself entirely away from her. He nudged her nose gently with his own while he took in her scent—a rosemary, maybe even lemony scent so distinct against the dusty smell of the fog. He was sick of considering how long it would be until they saw each other next, but he found himself doing just that as he tried to ingrain all of the sensations into his mind.

"I need you, Febs," he murmured, pulling back just far enough so he could look into her eyes. "But we need to be honest with each other—with our actions and our feelings."

Which probably meant an entirely (well, maybe not entirely) different thing for her than it did for him.

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