He ceases movement again, and Melinoe follows suit. Her hands linger at the position they rest in, knowing that Phonos is struggling with himself and the circumstances they are in before he can say a single word. His breathing has found a synched rhythm with hers, his at the bare skin at her neck makes things more difficult to stop. How long had it been since she’d realized that spark of admiration for him within? Had it been within the realm of their home world, or had it been far more recent? At this point, did such a thing matter? Each time she found herself watching him just a touch too long or admiring too much, Melinoe had to remind herself of the event of the kiss she had stolen the first time: He was angry, frustrated, and had wanted to distance himself from her. She had accepted it as the best thing she could do for him; to make him happy—whatever that actually meant to him. Her amazement at the current state of affairs had not gone unnoticed: He was sincerely hurt by her choice to keep the detachment, and appeared to be resentful of the company kept with Helenus.

She rests the back of her head against the wall of the contraption they’re stuck inside of in the attempt to reign herself in. He was right in the fact that they should not do such a thing. Not here, not in the haziness of pent-up emotion—if it is something that he does desire, and Meli suspects that he is unsure of everything at present. However, if Phonos is wrong about anything, it is his self-worth in terms of her.

Rather than separate from his person, Melinoe finds herself wrapping her arms around his waist instead, resting her forehead on his shoulder. She says nothing for a quiet moment, unsure of what it is she could possibly say to him in comfort. Though each and every nerve in her screams to be touched by him further, she could not push.

“Phonos,” she breathes. “It has always been you. Trust that we do not have to do anything that you do not wish to. I would not ask more.”