Lachlan watched her with careful eyes as she moved closer. He wouldn't admit it aloud, and it startled him to even have the thought run for his mind, but for a split second he had to fight the urge to fill in the gap between them and pull her against him. It was instinctive, he rationalized. It was what he'd grown to know as safe during that week when they were alone. The urge would fade with time, as they both returned to their lives. He kept his eyes on her as she spoke, and for a moment a smile overcame his dark features.

"You mean like you, then," he answered, because she knew it was true. She was the only one he could talk to. He'd injured his sister, and likely disappointed his family in the process, and most of his friends were quidditch folk who were more worried about the death he'd caused than the death he'd nearly experienced. She alone could empathize. "For now, at least. I don't expect you to keep tabs on me forever." For ever, for a while, much longer even; he would have to get used to sleeping with the candle burning beside him instead of the darkness, and pile on a few extra blankets when the cooler weather rolled in.

"Not too big a fan of water myself," he said, not wanting to admit that he struggled to swim despite his strength and athletic ability. He, of course, knew how to swim living so near the shore, but he'd never found pleasure in it. "I like the dry warmth. A knitted blanket, burning wood. Though I suppose the beach beats a freezing cave any day."

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