( His smile. Clarice can't help but press her thumb to the corner of it, a slave to the way this feels. Something inside of her is waking up and it feels right now. John isn't some boy who may or not eventually betray her because of her mutation. He's not here because he wants nothing more than her body. They're both tired and exhausted and living through hell, so she knows he means it. )

It definitely feels real.

( She laughs, helpless, cupping his jaw. )

Timing's always going to be bad. But I want to kiss you again. I want -- I want to be there for you? I want that. And I want a bunch of other stupid stuff too. This isn't a story, you know? I want to kiss you. A lot. I want to do more than that? I want to feel stupid and head over heels because if I don't? If I let this thing be taken away by the world we live in, then what's the point? So I'm letting myself like you. Which all the cliches and hormones that might come attached.