Penelope shook her head, because she didn't want remarkable words, didn't need them, except for one, except yes, because in that moment she dared to hope for it. The way she had missed Charles, she didn't even know the extent of it until she had seen him. There was a thudding in her chest that almost hurt. She didn't remember a heart beat ever being this painful before, but she couldn't recall a time when it felt as though it had swelled to twice its size, either. Maybe her wish was coming true, because slowly it felt like fighting with her brother, school, anything before and outside of this moment was irrelevant and didn't count. Penelope was gladder for it.
She had played a game with herself, sometime past, when she couldn't tell between dreaming and waking, though the circumstances were much bleaker then. It used to be when she dared not think anything a dream, but here was just the opposite. Though she knew this must be taking place, even with the fantasy-like quality of the encounter, Penelope still could not quite convince herself that it was. "Real or not real," she said softly, closing her eyes. "Are you truly standing here? Is this—really happening, or is it my imagination?" And though she was still clutching him, could feel him there, she was hesitant to open them. Hallucinations could seem tactile. Auditory illusions existed. She knew she couldn't trust her eyes, so kept them shut. But she didn't care now, because it was the best one she could remember having.
Stepping even closer, she clasped his hand in both of hers and rose up on her toes. Leaning into him so her lips were just a sigh away from his, Penelope's grip on his front tightened. "Please kiss me even if it is."
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