At first Clara thinks that she's misinterpreted Nolan's attraction to her. His reaction to her kiss is so peculiar, she almost wishes she hadn't done it. Almost.

Clara has never kissed anyone before, obviously, so having the opportunity to do so and taking it, even if it turns out awkward and one-sided, cannot be deemed a totally regrettable decision. If he doesn't feel the same way about her, then there's nothing she can do about it. But even if he hates her, leaves the hotel and never returns, she will always remember how his lips felt on hers.

She's still thinking about this when he presses her back to him and kisses her with such fervor, there can be no mistake about his desires. He wrenches himself away just as fiercely, his eyes finding hers with a level of intensity she's never seen before. He wants her, possibly even loves her, but he's terrified at the same time. Clara has read enough pilfered romance novels to realize this back and forth pull of emotions is normal, especially for men. He'll have to work through it. She can encourage him as he patches up his damaged psyche, but he will have to do the hard work himself.

"I'm just like you now," Clara tells him and he echoes her. They are like each other. Clara cannot wait for her first breath, for the same door to open up for both of them.

#

Clara sleeps tucked into Nolan's side. Nolan doesn't sleep. He stares at the popcorn ceiling and plans both his escape and his imprisonment. He spends hours dwelling on various scenarios but in the end, he can't decide which version of his future he wants to play out. He can't even say for certain which one represents freedom.

Nolan holds his breath and then doesn't hold his breath. Clara lays next to him not breathing, not moving, but still so alive. He feels her, the weight of her arm on top of Nolan's, the warmth of her body pressed to his. He feels her most of the night, but not all of it. At one point, he envisions his mother standing in a field of yellow flowers, calling to him, her arms stretched out in front of her; it's at this point that Clara slips away from him, like a fish through a hole in a net. She glides back into the sea, down deep into the shadows, her plait of brown hair the last part of her to disappear.

Nolan stops breathing, desperately feeling for Clara at his side, and she is there, living and real. Her touch is absolute. He clings to this reality as best he can.

Satisfied he will not loosen his grip, he's at last able to find sleep.