His heart felt like it was beating wildly in his chest, like the way he had run through her house, searching for Voldemort before returning to her side and desperately trying to find signs of life. But his heartbeat stayed steady and low, which helped hold him calm. He rarely lost control of his emotions, and Kingsley certainly did not wish to force anything upon her. She understood him, and it...was her decision whether or not they were returned in kind or, whether or not they were, if after everything she had been through, she desired to do something with it.
That did not make it any easier, to wait, to sit there, hand still on the glass, whole body still. Tension had filled up most of his limbs, his muscles, though the hand she held stayed looser. Adrenaline poured through, and Kingsley knew he loved her. They had flirted and hugged and...all that had been light, and they had been roommates, good friends, not more, not consciously, and still...somehow it had happened. Between their joking back and forth, there had been a great many good points.
Kings didn't regret telling her. In times like these, waiting had the possibility of waiting too long. And he couldn't have that. So he listened with care, looking right at her. She was...quite open about it, whether because it was him or the alcohol or letting loose from all the stress. There was so much to her that Kingsley didn't know, and he wanted to know it - the good, the bad, all the hurt and pain and ugliness of it. "You are the most remarkable woman I've met," Kingsley replied honestly, "Bandages and all. And I'll be here, for you." However it went.