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For the antisocial male, the past two weeks had passed rather uneventfully. Apart from having to explain things to his ever-curious twin sister, he had passed the time as seperated from society as he had ever been. The only difference was Kepi, who had become a permanent part of his daily life, and though it seemed like they had settled into a routine rather easily, he felt that the adjustment to their relationship had changed his perspective on many things for the better.

Though he didn't really spend a lot of his time sitting and thinking randomly (most of his time not spent openly talking with her was spent working on his pieces) he did happen to ponder time to time over where their relationship was headed. Unsurprisingly, he was hesitant to jump into things with her too fast, to push where they were headed for fear of what might lay at the end. He was fine with taking things slow, going at a snail's pace, and she hadn't seemed to mind anything just yet. Unless she got terribly upset over him and his caution, which he didn't think she would, he was going to feel his way through it. He was confident, in the end, they would find where they were meant to be in this.

It hadn't truly surprised him that they had been paired together for this, and if he thought about it, he was much happier that he had been paired with her than anyone else. He had a feel for her work, as she did for him, and he knew how to write around her words. At first, weeks ago, before he had fallen for her in whatever sense it was that he had, the thought of tainting his music with anything had been a terrible thought.

Unsurprisingly, he was indeed up late, leaned over the table in the dorm room he had been assigned. Music sheets were spread out across the surface in an arrangement that looked extremely precise in placement. He was concentrated upon two sheets before him, fingers tapping out what happened to no doubt be music he could hear plainly in his head. He was comfortable in a pair of soft pajama bottoms, shirtless, because he found wearing too much to bed simply felt suffocating. What he hadn't planned on hearing while he toyed with his tune was the knock and soft call of his name. For a moment, it didn't even register, and then he paused and dropped his pen.

Was that Kepi? He sat there for a moment, brows knitted. Then, as he realized just how terrible it might look if someone saw her standing outside his doorway at this time of night, he pushed himself up and crossed to the door. He knew her intentions were only good, but no one else would see it that way. She didn't seem to think on the same level as most girls, which he attributed to growing up with the brothers she frequently mentioned. Pulling open the door, he wasn't surprised in the least to see her there. "Get in here," he muttered, glancing down the hallways before tugging lightly at her arm. Once she was inside, he shut the door, and turned to stare at her.

Her outfit, he had to admit, wasn't something he was quite expecting. He furrowed his brows at it, then simply smirked and shook his head, deciding not to question it. "You know, you can't just.. come sneaking down here at night. You could get us both into trouble if someone saw you." He didn't expect her to understand, but he thought he might as well warn her regardless.

He simply spread his arms at her defense, eyebrows raising a very small fraction. He was a bit more open with emotions towards her, but it was still only her, and they were still only small ones. It was likely other people wouldn't have even really noticed them, but he knew she did, which meant the effort wasn't wasted. "I didn't say a thing," he said calmly, bluntly, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

He was silent, though, as usual when she was explaining herself to him. His brows furrowed even more as she talked, making him realize that she simply had no idea what so ever the implications that could arise if anyone saw her coming to his room in the middle of the night. "It's got nothing to do with you waking them up, Kepi; you coming to my room this late.. it looks bad. I mean, I know what your intentions are, but they don't." He couldn't help but be reminded of her reaction to the book the day that their whole relationship had started, his head tilting slightly as he looked down at her. She was always a little slow to realize these things, but he knew the importance of trying to make her do so.

As she lifted a finger to point at him, for a moment, he was simply stunned. In his hurry to get her inside and away from whatever curious eyes might be lurking, he had entirely forgotten that he was a little less clothed than normal. He opened his mouth for a moment, to retort her, and then simply shut it again. "Well," he began, a moment later, "yes. I like to be comfortable when I sleep, and shirts are restricting. I feel like I can't breathe." He felt as if that was explination enough, as it should be. If he was in the privacy of his own room, why should it matter how he dressed? He was certainly not in danger of appearing sloppy to anyone there. He liked comfort just as much as the next man. Of course, his thoughts were interupted as he looked down at her just in time to see her taking a step forward with an outstretched hand. He hesitated, taking his own half-step backwards. "What are you doing?" he asked slowly, unsure at that moment of whether or not he wanted her to touch him. For one, it would look exactly like what outsiders would expect of his girlfriend coming into his room late at night for, and secondly, he wasn't exactly sure how he'd react to actually having her touching bare flesh that wasn't accustomed to.. her.

If he was perfectly honest about it, the fact that he was the one that was pushing the relationship forward and taking the first steps was an odd idea entirely. In life, he was perfectly content to let the world pass him by, work at his own pace and let those around him make the decisions that were important and put things into play that needed to be done. Ignoring society as a whole often meant that he was malleable to what others wanted, be it his mother, his teachers, or students that happened to be forced to interact with him at one point or another. He didn't mind it, for he usually just wanted to get whatever it was that was needed done so that he could go back to his true passion - his music. He supposed it was simply normal that the male took the lead, but he was more willing to contribute it to her inexperience. It wasn't as if he disliked it, in fact, he was quite happy to be able to take things at a pace that was comfortable for him, but it was a step in a direction he was unfamiliar with. It was a bit of a new responsibility to not only know he was ready for something, but to have to judge by her actions just what she was comfortable with and ready for.

He could tell by the simple look on her face that she didn't understand the implications he was trying to get across to her. Sometimes, her blatant misunderstanding of such things astounded him. He knew her mind chose to veer towards the more innocent side of things, chose to not see things that normal people did, but he had hoped that she would begin waking up to at least realizing that not everything she did around most boys could be done around him. Visiting him in the middle of the night was nothing like visiting one of her brothers. It wasn't that he minded - hell, this was a beautiful break from stressful work he had been doing - but he knew the trouble she (and he, for that matter) could get into should administration realize that she had taken a late-night visit to his dorm room. It wasn't as if he had any time to dispute the matter, however, as he soon realized that her attentions were immediately going elsewhere.

He knew exactly what she was doing, it was in fact glaringly obvious, but that didn't mean he didn't deserve the right to feel surprised. He didn't need her to touch him, given the fact that it was hard enough to control his thoughts from simple kisses. As she hesitated, he thought perhaps she would heed his words and stop, giving him just enough time to let his guard down and resign himself to thinking she was, for once, going to listen. Just as he thought this, however, she closed the distance between them and pressed the warm palm of her hand against the bare skin of his chest. His breath hitched in his throat, then drew in deeply as he felt her fingers stroke down a little. He shut his eyes, trying to keep himself from reverting to that terrible state where he knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything save the feel of her skin, or the scent of her hair. Even then, he was having a terrible time trying to think of anything past the urge to simply kiss her - it felt like the right thing to do, the instinctual thing to do, but he knew it was wrong and could inevitably lead to a situation he wasn't sure either of them were quite ready to handle. His head felt clouded, but he forced himself to open his eyes, look down into hers, and resist whatever temptations he felt.

"You can't.. just do that, Kepi," his voice was softer, quieter than he had intended, but he feared that any louder and it might stammer more noticeably. That, and he somehow felt that he needed to be quiet - he knew the situation they were in at least looked wrong, and like anyone that knew they were doing something against the rules, making as little sound as possible was the best way to avoid detection, even if there was little risk of it to begin with. He wanted to move away, but despite his thoughts and the knowledge that he needed to, his whole body seemed to protest it. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, face worked into as calm of an expression as he could manage, although it was obvious he was having trouble concentrating - reminiscent of the day beneath the tree. "I know you're not trying to do anything by it, but it's.." he paused as he tried to find the right word, for he felt he needed to explain this to her thoroughly lest she get, as usual, confused as to what he meant, "it's.. a little intimate." It wasn't as if he was opposed to intimacy with her, it was just that she didn't always think her actions through and sometimes they sent the wrong signals to his body even when his mind knew otherwise.

Despite every signal in his body telling him to do otherwise, he forced his arms to lay limply at his sides. He managed to watch her eyes, waiting for her to simply back away so he could at least breathe normally if not think on some proper level again.

Despite the situation and the impairment of his thoughts, he was immediately drawn to her when he heard the soft tune of his song being hummed on her lips. It was always a strange thing, to hear his music from someone else, though he didn't trust it better with any other soul than her. Admittedly, his mouth parted slightly as she used his own flesh as the surface for her metronome, feeling the tap reverberate over his skin, but as soon as the whisper of her words passed her lips he was momentarily stunned into stillness. Her voice was quite entrancing now that he was willing to admit so, now that he had actually spent quite some time listening to her. He could hear his music in his head, playing to her words as she sung them aloud, even so quietly. The smile he reserved only for her, small as it was, twisted the corner of his lips and he was momentarily dumbfounded into a silence that had nothing to do, for once, with the feel of her touching his bare flesh. "That was perfect," he said, in his tone of pure honesty and bluntness, as he found himself wondering how the rest of her words would unfold.

It was obvious, though, that her moment of inspiration had come and gone (it seemed to do that with her sometimes, come in spurts that were quite random as far as he could tell) as she turned her attention back on the matter at hand and forced him to realize, yet again, that she was touching him in a way that felt deliriously good and wrong all at once. He saw the realization dawn upon her face, however, and a wash of relief flooded through him. At least he had managed to explain things to her properly enough this time that it left no room for her to interpret things wrong. He expected her to move her hand, and when she didn't, his brows furrowed into a deep v. Why was she hesitating over this?

He seemed even more confused as she gave his chest another stroke, his mouth parting slightly. The situation wasn't helped at all by the hand she pressed against his cheek, causing him to lean into it even as she assaulted him with the kiss against his jawline. That last motion caused him to grit his teeth, sucking in a deep breath as he did so, fighting down the urge to pull her against him and forcing his arms to remain at his side. Despite it, his hands curled into fists, probably a defense against his own terrible wishes. "Yes," he said quietly, his words a little gruffer than he wanted them to be, "you've told me that before." She often called him sweet, especially moments like this - she had done so beneath the tree weeks ago. Fact of the matter was that he felt anything but sweet right now, even as he was fighting to protect her from.. protect her from what? Himself? Even as he she pulled away though, with those words that made his stomach tighten, he felt his whole body protesting it. It took a good deal of concentration not to grab her and force her to come back to him.

For a few moments, he simply drew in deep breaths, calming himself down and putting his mind back to a place where he could concentrate. Perhaps this visit wasn't as great a break as he had thought - if she kept on, there was going to be no way he was going to get any more work done tonight. "You didn't make me uncomfortable," he said with a bit of a frown, glancing up at her and brushing back his hair from his eyes, where it had fallen during the little escapade. He hadn't really been uncomfortable, he just knew there were boundaries, places they shouldn't be crossing until, well, until he was, at least, completely sure they were ready. He didn't want to feel responsible for pushing her into something.

He had been in the process of rubbing his hand over his own chest, perhaps to brush away the feeling of her own, when her words hit him hard and full force. He paused, looking across at her from where he still stood. Out of everything he had been prepared to hear from her, he wasn't sure that was one of the things. Of course, quite suddenly, it made him realize that perhaps her burst of inspiration from earlier hadn't been as random as he thought. With a slight frown of thought on his lips, he closed the space between where he stood and the bed, sitting down beside her lightly. He took her hand, though, even as he looked out at the room blankly. He didn't know how to explain what love was, or what he felt it was, and he didn't want to waste words. "I'm not sure," he said finally, turning his eyes to look at her own, "I'm not sure it's something you can describe."

He didn't know what kind of reaction he had expected from her, but it was certainly not the one she had given him. Her unpredictable ways were one thing he did adore about her, even if they had been some what of a plague to him at first. Some how, as soon as she began to sing, he knew that nothing was more right in that moment than her song. His music came washing into his ears, as clear as if he were playing the keys with his fingers, and as each lyric planted itself into his memory, he found the small hitches in his work disappearing, replaced with the perfect notes to make her words bloom and carry like petals on the wind. It unfolded in his mind so perfectly that he knew he didn't even need to write it down at that moment, it was stuck there so easily that he probably couldn't forget it if he tried. He had never believed her that first day when she said her words wouldn't hurt his music, but now he realized that she was right. Her words didn't hurt it, they made it into something more than he could have ever created on his own.

It was that moment, watching her in the middle of her song, his eyes on her face and her lips as the words spilled out and created a story that he could feel in his heart that he realized that maybe love could be described. Even if it wasn't done in words like poets could, it could still be done with her words, with his music. He expressed himself with his music, she with the words she sang, and all along he realized that even if this piece was written for a performance, he had been writing it for her. The feeling he felt when it came together, the overwhelming sense of.. something in his heart as he watched her, heard the two parts together in his mind. He knew what that was, knew what it had to be. There was no denying it.

As it died down, her words drawing to a close, he could only watch her in silence - in awe. He let her wrap her arms around him, despite the fact that it was more of her bare skin against his than he had ever felt, despite the fact that it sent shivers down his spine the instant she made the connection. It seemed like a trivial thing in the aftermath of his realization, and for that moment, he could fight off whatever part of his brain was trying to muddle his thoughts. Not long, but he could do it to express what he needed to. He moved his arms around her instead, holding her tightly to him, drawing in a deep breath as his smile crept once more onto his face - a bit bigger than normal (if still small for anyone else). "That was perfect," he whispered to her, one hand coming up to stroke through the soft locks of her hair, "I was wrong. I think you can describe love, Kepi, we just do it differently."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he shifted to disentangle her slightly - just enough to push her far enough from him so that he could find her lips without having to lean down at an awkward angle. For once, he didn't bother to think about it, he simply did it because it felt right.

Admittedly, he was a little surprised when she shifted to press herself against him, but it served to do nothing more than spur him forward in whatever heat of the moment he had been caught in. One of his arms snaked around her, resting just above her waist, while the hand of his other fell to rest lightly against her hip instead. Even as she pulled away, he made a noise in his throat in protest, his body working before his mind could think to. It was only then that he registered the trail of kisses along his jawline, and his eyes flashed open with a sharp intake of breath, the hand on her waist squeezing lightly. He wasn't sure she realized what she was doing, but all of that combined with the sudden realization that she was now pressed against his bare chest was sending his brain into a frenzy.

He shifted, his face worked slightly into a frown, replacing the smile that had been there. He glanced down at her though as he heard her words, unwilling to let her go yet, so he only held onto her. "A little work," he said softly, agreeing, hearing her double-meaning as clear as day. He had no doubt that they were going to surprise everyone, their work was something he wouldn't have expected of himself mere weeks ago, certainly not of her. Together, they seemed like an unlikely pair, and yet, perhaps that was why they were so perfect. They brought out the best parts of one another.

"Stay here?" he said softly, his voice a little shaky from the feeling of her finger trailing up his skin and to his lips. He could feel the hum from her mouth against his neck, her finger against his lips. He cleared his throat, aware of her pulling herself against him more tightly with that hugging arm, and tried to find the words that he knew he didn't want to say. "Kepi, I know you'll be good," he muttered, the thumb of his hand stroking against her hip, brushing across the fabric of her gown and the warmth of her flesh he could feel beneath (which helped.. nothing), "but I don't know if I can. I'm sorry." He shook his head slowly, looking down at her, though it was a strained and odd angle. He didn't want her to leave, it was obvious by the way he had yet to let go of her, but he knew, deep down, that she was already starting to drive him crazy just with the little she was doing - none of which, he was sure, was on purpose. That was what made him sure she needed to go.

He knew that he was a passionate person, at least in regards to some things. His music was one - it was what he lived for, or had lived for at least before he had found something else in her. He had never planned on finding something else to be passionate about, and yet, there she was as plain as day. To others, he didn't seem passionate about anything at all, he was sure. He was quiet, reserved, and often let the world pass him by if he wasn't careful. She saw things in him that no one else did, and he was sure he saw things in her that others missed as well. She, for one, was just as passionate as he was about so many things. It was easier to see in her, perhaps, but that didn't mean he took it for granted.

The fact that she wore her emotions and her thoughts so out in the open was another amusing notion. Where he hid most of his or simply preferred not to show it, he could often read her like a book with the way she showed hers to the world. It was no surprise then that he saw the startled look that passed over her face as he drew her out of what he only expected to be deep thought. He couldn't have truly guessed over what she had been thinking of - perhaps the notion that had been presented to them? It certainly wasn't a light one, the thought of love, and he could understand her wanting to take the time to think about it in depth. When he saw her hesitate and then noticed the change of her features, he figured she had reached a decision.

As she got up, he assumed that she had simply done what he had been asking her to - she was leaving. He couldn't deny that part of him was disappointed, but it was for the best. He shifted then, looking down, the arm around him loosening - just in time for her to get on her knees and look down at him with that serious gleam in her eyes. Confused, his brows furrowed and he turned his eyes up to look into hers just in time to hear the words slip past her lips. That serious look was one he hadn't expected, and yet, combined with the words, it got the point across that she had been trying to make him understand. "I didn't think you would," he said softly, in his defense, though he knew he had been worried all along about pushing things too far with her. He didn't think she'd break, but there was certainly an innocence about her, something he didn't want to corrupt for his own selfish purposes. Maybe all he needed to know was that she wouldn't, in fact, crumble.

When her arms reached out around his neck, he hesitated, his mouth opening, but closing in the face of more words from her lips. His hands, having fallen a bit from where they were originally, slipped so that both could land on her hips instead - it was an easier placement with how she was kneeling. She was really going to stay, he realized, staring up at her eyes and hearing those words. Part of him felt a little panicked, his gut wrenching slightly, while the other half simply felt overjoyed. Even then, he didn't know how to answer her question. Or rather, to be honest, he didn't know how to answer it properly. He knew what he wanted, but he felt like anything he said would have simply been improper. He glanced down at his hands on her hips for a moment, the fingers there squeezing lightly, then brushing against the fabric of her gown. "You, all of you," he said, turning his dark eyes back up to meet hers, "just you." The fact stood, though, that he still didn't know quite what she wanted, but being the gentlemen that he was always trying to be, he wouldn't bring himself to ask - just like he could barely bring himself to say.