(She wasn't kidding. Not that he thought she had -- Elena didn't joke about love, because Christ, both of their love lives kind of sucked -- but it just didn't. Hit him. Until now. This is different than the idle flirting they did in the Gilbert kitchen. Different than even he remembers. Sometimes he forgets how long they've been here.)
He never knows how he gets into these things. Combine the words kiss and Elena and the way she approaches him like it's a duty, all he thinks is Isobel's daughter. She'd been a matter-of-fact with some of their kisses, too.
Get it over with. They weren't getting crushed by some. Stupid barrier.]
I'm sorry about this. [It's half a joke. No one wants to kiss their scruffy history teacher. He has to lean down, way down, ignoring how damn awkward this is (takes a lot of concentration, okay, and he figures some touch of the lips to cheek won't do shit.) So he wrenches his eyes shut and presses his lips to hers, arms hanging weirdly by his sides.]