[ Now is not the time for sarcasm, not with how tightly wound he is and how serious everything he just said happens to be, so she avoids anything droll.

Instead, she reaches out to lightly try to uncurl his fingers from his blankets, to smooth away some of the tension. ]

I think you are right about us.

[ Quiet, tentative, because this is— huge. Dangerous. ]

I value you as my friend. [ Her best friend. ] But I want more.

[ Because she's loved having that contact with him, loved being close to him, and even if so much of that incident in the infirmary had been the fever overtaking her, she'd wanted that (and thought about it far more times than she probably should have). But setting aside the sexual nature of that encounter, she's adored every night spent in his bed, all of the quiet sweetness they've exchanged, the days spent dancing and holding hands, being— something. ]

I have... never felt like this for anyone before. [ She's never had the opportunity, never allowed herself. ] So I'm concerned I may not proceed in the best way, but—

[ She turns her eyes up to meet his, that intensity, that sincerity in her gaze. ]

I want you. In more than physical means.

I'm just uncertain I'll know how that's supposed to look for us.

[ But she wants that intimacy and that connection she's felt with him, and she wants to be with him. She may not have any experience or any real frame of reference (except for her parents, and she remembers how happy they'd been, how much they'd loved each other), but that doesn't mean she doesn't want to try. ]