"I could have."

She rests her hands on top of the backpack and tips her head to look at him. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to see you."

He's not looking at her; she takes advantage of that fact and allows herself to study his face, the expression on her own something sore and happy and complicated all at the same time.

She hasn't been this close to him since that night on the rooftop.

(She doesn't count...the cafeteria.)

"You look good," she says, softly. "How do you feel?"