Chicken. Home. An outstretched hand. Three simple things that knocked him dumb, again. But he opened his hand and took hers, and the comfort of it... well that didn't make it any easier to speak, but next time he filled his lungs, the air reached a little deeper.
It wasn't far, back to Qebhet's house. He didn't feel quite as pressed to speak as before, as if his last comment had changed some setting in him from 'confess' to 'chicken'.
He was a little hungry, but mostly, he didn't want to let go of her hand, and even though he'd tried to make a rule not to be alone with her... he felt like that rule had kinda shattered as much as he had. So he let her lead him back inside, and shut the door after him, and though anxiety and guilt spiked again inside him... his hand in hers, that still felt calm.
"Guess your friend is still out?" he asked, listening to the quiet in her house. Something thumped lightly in another room, perhaps a cat jumping down from the sofa. There was no threat in the sound. Or the quiet. Much tried to breathe evenly, tried to keep it that way.