She looked up.
His face was right there. The rain on his skin. Those eyes, which at this distance were unambiguously purple, no other interpretation available, just that color that shouldn't exist in human irises and did anyway, and the expression in them was something she hadn't learned to categorize yet — not amusement, though it contained amusement, not heat, though it contained that too, just the specific quality of a person looking at something they have decided.
"'Shut up,'" he said.
And kissed her.
She had a basis for comparison.
She had seen hollywood movies and she'd been kissed in that hallway by him and she'd thought she knew what it was — the mechanics of it, the particular exchange of pressure and breath, the thing that happened between two people that carried varying amounts of feeling depending on the people involved.
She knew nothing.
