The next time their eyes meet it's clear that she is aware of his abrupt realization. There's nothing personal about his flushed cheeks, she knows -- she has had a year to reluctantly grow accustomed to the potential for sheer physical response -- but a faint twinge of pink blooms in her own face as well. Even though she is not as repressed as she was on arrival, he is not someone she has grown less repressed with.

It's awkward to be mostly skin-to-skin like this, more awkward still to discover his arm twining around her waist with purpose, but none of that matters as long as she has the challenge in front of her. She has the span of about two heartbeats to realize what he means to do, and the truth is that she has very little experience with attempted headbutts. If she had her headpiece on it would be much riskier for him.

The hand that doesn't have his arm trapped rises to catch his chin and turn it aside but that doesn't stop their heads from striking off-center, breath pushing audibly past her lips. The impact halts her progress, forces her to blinkblinkblink, and she does the first thing to come to mind, given their entanglement: her knee hikes sharply into his crotch.