He could but hardly draw a breath when Charlotte drew his hand into her own; never since he'd first taken to a knee to ask Sarah to marry him had his heart thudded so damn hard in his throat. And just like then, he felt wholly inadequate as he waited on the words that came so slowly to her lips. His fear that she would deny his plea, deny him the need he had to love her with all that he possibly could, held him in a such a grip that his vision started to tunnel; his ears started to ring.

Why her answer meant so much, he couldn't comprehend. He knew why he'd been so anxious and nervous about Sarah in only the way that a seventeen year old punk kid could know. She had been his sole focus; his only need and want and desire. Charlotte wasn't any less so, but he had his age to keep him grounded; to keep him aware that, were she to turn and walk away, he wouldn't die. And yet, that grounding seemed weak and unhelpful at this moment.

And thus, when her words began, he still held his breath. Still, until she had expelled every last word, he wasn't ready to believe that she wasn't leaving. His breath left him so fast that he almost stumbled and had to use the wall to steady himself.

"Char," he breathed out, his eyes looking up to hold her own. But then the words he wanted to say, the words he knew he should say, were assasinated as his lips took her own, his arms encircling her waist to pull her hard against him. His relief so great that he had no other recourse but to kiss her.