Dressed in casual clothes and soft-soled shoes, a dark red cloak slung around her shoulders, Aoife crept through the castle hallways behind Tarran, as silent as the grave. His red robe swished behind him as he walked, hood up and face covered. It was difficult to keep up with his long strides and quick steps, but Aoife scrambled along behind him as he walked towards the library, obviously intent on finding something that she didn't know about.

It had been a full day since their last conversation, and neither of them had mentioned a single word about it. However, Aoife showed up at their usual meeting time, and Tarran acted as though nothing was wrong or had changed in the slightest.

The lack of acknowledgement almost hurt in itself, but she supposed this was far better than some reactions. It was kind of him, in a way, to act as though everything was perfectly fine between them, and she was not unappreciative of that kindness.

"What are we doing?" she asked quietly, afraid to break the silence.

"We're going to see if there are any more of those books like the fairy tale one you found in the library's special collections," he said. "They could be helpful in our research, and I'm curious how something so old wound up here rather than in the Fae archives-"

Tarran stopped suddenly on the second stair, clutching his chest.

"Here," Aoife said softly. She placed her hand on his back, feeling for that same slick, tar-like substance. It didn't take long to find it, considering it seemed to be the antithesis of her own magic, something it naturally wanted to sneer at and overpower. She could feel the power working through her touch, like a slow warmth trickling through her fingertips. Her magic seemed to attack it all on its own, beating it back until Tarran's breathing evened and she moved her hand away.

"Thank you," he whispered. "You... got better at that quickly."

"It feels like... something unlocked inside me," she admitted. "It's like... now that I know I don't really need to fight it, it's almost effortless. It just took so long for me to figure out how, I thought I never would."

"Your magic was always protecting you," he said with a soft smile.

"I didn't think the concept was that literal, but I understand now. It... wants to help me. It wants us both to live," she said, looking down at her ungloved hands. "I understand that now."

They walked deeper into the library in silence, not quite all the way to special collections, but far enough among the winding and wandering expanses of shelves that Aoife began to worry if something was wrong when Tarran didn't speak again.

Perhaps revealing her feelings had really crossed the line. She hadn't planned on it, it just happened, and she still didn't have a better explanation for why she was so insistent on keeping him alive. Maybe it was selfish to want to keep him here so she could see him happy.

Aoife wasn't sure she cared. He deserved a better life than this, and if she could give him that, she wanted to try.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked, voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

"What?" Tarran whirled around to face her, frowning, but she couldn't see his eyes beneath that massive hood. She couldn't quite tell what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry," Aoife said. She leaned her back against one of the massive library shelves, eyes glued on the floor. "I shouldn't have pushed like that. I put you in a terrible position."

"You didn't," he said gently.

"I did. I shouldn't have told you..." She paused, pursing her lips for a moment. "I should have kept it to myself. I don't want to ruin what I have with you when you might- you might not have much time left."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Aoife forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't let the lump in her throat take over, she couldn't let the fear in her chest win this battle. She only wanted him to live! Was that so terrible, she wondered? Was it so terrible to want someone you treasured more than your own life to live and live well?

The silence seemed to stretch on for ages, and Aoife couldn't bring herself to look up from the floor. She wanted to wait first, just enough that she had a little warning before looking him in the face again. Tarran had always been able to read her like a book, but at least she'd be able to face him with a little dignity intact.

"This might be selfish of me..." Tarran murmured. When she looked up, he pulled down his hood, his gray eyes swimming with unshed tears. Aoife drew in a sharp breath, not daring to move or to take her gaze away from him.

Tarran stepped closer, eyes darting across her face as he moved, gauging her reaction. Aoife stayed stock still, blood rushing in her ears as her eyes fluttered closed...

It was, perhaps, the most horrendous excuse for a kiss to ever take place in the history of all terrible kisses.

Foreheads knocked. Noses bumped at awkward angles. At some point during the scuffle, she thought their lips may have made contact, but she could only be debatably sure of that. Aoife made a squeaking noise of surprise that might have been misinterpreted as distress, because Tarran immediately pulled away from her with such force that she tumbled backwards and bumped against the bookshelf. The force of the impact dislodged a partially-unshelved volume on a shelf high above her, bringing it down with spectacular force right across the bridge of her nose. She cried out at the impact, automatically reaching up to cover the injury.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, attempting to wave him off, but her hand came away bloody. "Oh, dear..."

"Let me-" Tarran began, but Aoife just shook her head with a smile. She pressed two fingers to her nose and focused on rerouting some of the life force in her core to her fingertips. Her hands felt cool and numb for a moment, and then the injury was as good as new.

"It's good practice if nothing else. I still can't do it consciously without touching the injury."

"That's incredible," Tarran said, shaking his head. "Two and a half months ago you couldn't touch a plant without making it wither and now you're healing your own injuries consciously."

"Two and a half months ago I hadn't met you," Aoife said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Give yourself the credit you deserve. You worked for this."

He took a step away, but before he moved too far, he offered his hand. Aoife's heart leapt in her chest as she twined her fingers with his, the euphoria of skin to skin connection still a novelty for her, especially skin to skin connection with someone she loved.

And... who might, just might, stand a chance of loving her in return.

"Let's find those books, shall we?" he asked, giving her hand a slight squeeze. Aoife smiled brightly and nodded.