As promised, he let days go by and gave Siren space. It was easy when he could busy himself by finishing the song, though even with a pick his fingers ached. During that period, nothing of note happened aside from the weird tension during breakfast after the curse incident; Wyvern had quizzed him on whether or not he planned on lodging a complaint. That hadn't even crossed his mind. He didn't even intend on mentioning it in his letters home, considering the freakout it would cause. 

By the time he'd mostly finished the song, a good chunk of days had gone by, though his fingers were still bandaged. He dressed up properly to meet Siren, hoping her thoughts had rearranged in his favor. His fingertips complained as he tied his hair up, but he pushed on and was soon out the now fixed door with the guitar on his back. Laurel made his way to the library, too conscious of himself when the intern at the reception eyed him down. They definitely knew what he'd done days prior. He pushed the office doors open to find Siren on the couch, boots off and arms hugging fluffy covers. She grumbled and he closed the doors silently. "Oh, sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to wake you." After finding her glasses where they hung by their chord, she sat up, clearing some space on the couch. "I wasn't asleep," she said, looking up and smiling, "Do you plan on serenading me for forgiveness?" 

He took the guitar off his back and sat with her on the couch, smiling back timidly. "If you asked me to," he replied, pausing for a deep breath, "But no. I've been writing something… for you. Inspired by your poem. And what I could read of Alina's." Laurel hesitated, unsure of what the look on Siren's eyes meant. "And now I realize maybe I should have asked you if that was okay. Well… It was meant to be a surprise, so…" She slid closer to him, not smiling anymore. That made the task a little more daunting. "Stop talking. Play it." He inhaled sharply and acquiesced, refusing to look at her as he played. The pressure was already too big without having to guess what was going on behind her face. 

The progression was more intense than what he was used to playing and the idea of messing up instigated a cold sweat. He'd written it keeping the way her poem had felt in mind; that was where the intensity came from. It was more of a translation job, really, and it made him insecure. But glad. After the last note, he could faintly hear his own frantic heartbeat. He dared look up to her, finding her mouth agape and eyes wide. The silence was crushing. He mustered up the courage to speak up, but then her shock broke into a smile and she said: "That's the most attention anyone has ever paid me." Her voice was low and soft and it made him want to come closer. He set the guitar aside, not taking his eyes off her. "And… you like it?" he asked. "I love it. Be more sure of yourself," she smiled widely, "It… made me really happy." 

"I'm never sure of myself when it comes to you," he said, lowering his voice. She seemed surprised for a second, but it soon gave way to a grin. "I suppose that's good," she said, sliding closer, "I do enjoy the tension." Time slid by as they stared at each other, both at a loss for words. Too aware of their proximity, Laurel cleared his throat and found the will to break it off. "So, it's your turn," he said. That seemed to confuse her for a moment, as if she'd been too caught up to process the words. "Right, though I don't know if anything I show you will be enough to balance that out," she said, getting up. She paused. "I'm serious. I liked it a lot," she muttered as she went through her drawers again. When he heard that, Laurel's chest felt too small for his heart. She returned with a piece of paper and, after a second of hesitation, started reading for him:

"a dweller of the river Beltpass

seeker of greater depths 

beside decomposing fellows

leaving behind all things shallow.

together we dive

and share no words

separated by states of life

and the plagued mold.

no longer an individual

our bodies, the body of water

our personalities, residual.

though for now i am a living creature

the overwhelming pressure

distorts any human feature."

As always, he let it sink in, focusing on her every word. After it seemed like she'd had a moment to breathe, he said: "It sounds to me like you feel pretty lonely." That gave her pause; her eyes widened and she turned her face away. Still, he could see that she furrowed her brow. "Not all poets write from experience, you know," she said, sighing, "That's quite the ignorant take." He chuckled. Whenever she wanted to deflect, it seemed like she resorted to insulting his intelligence. "But I think you do," he replied. There was no answer and she didn't look at him.

Laurel shifted, feeling some words lodge themselves in his throat. He'd been watching her for long enough to form coherent thoughts and he wished things could be different. "To be honest, I know you don't want to feel like that… Better yet, you don't want to need social interaction," he said, finding the guts to get it out. Though she didn't look at him, he continued: "So you repress it… But all the time you spend agonizing on it means you already feel like that." Gingerly, he touched her hand, glad that she didn't shy away. At last, she scoffed, "Fuck, have you been psychoevaluating me?" Laurel smiled, "I've already told you I hang onto your every word." Siren sighed and he thought her hand shivered a little. "Well… Any friends?" he asked. "I talk to you. Sometimes Wyves," she said. 

In anticipation of what he'd ask next, Laurel's heartrate picked up. "Um… Any exes?" Siren laughed bitterly. "As if anyone would want anything to do with someone as unavailable as me," she said. He could feel his heartbeat on his fingertips as he held her hand. Hoping his hand wasn't sweaty, he took a deep breath before risking it: "Then… Maybe you should try someone as unavailable as you." She finally met his gaze, lips slightly parted; her hand twitched a bit in his grasp. "Like?" she asked, almost whispering. "Like…" he inched closer and took a deep breath, "The crown prince of another country." His breath escaped him as he waited for her reaction; for a while, she just stared at him, mouth agape. Then, her shock became a grin, her cheeks stained light red. "Oh? There are only a handful of those, you know…" she said, grabbing his hand and coming closer; "Where do you suggest I find one?" 

That close to her, breathing became hard again; he felt lightheaded, unsure whether to stare at her eyes or mouth. "I happen to know one…" he said, hearing his own blood rush by his ears, "Laurel Greyland?" Though her hand was shaky, she raised it and tucked a loose strand of Laurel's long hair behind his ear. Her smile was just as shaky. "Yeah, I know him. He's quite… pretty," she said, her voice so soft he wanted to inch even closer to listen better. The compliment made his cheeks warm up, a pleasant tingling on his body. "Yeah?" he asked. No one had ever called him pretty. "Yeah," she said, "But would he be interested?" He bent towards her, their noses nearly touching, and chuckled slightly, "All he seems to talk about these days is you." The silence felt too heavy, like boulders on their backs pushing them closer to each other. Instead of giving in, Siren squeezed his hand and said: "I want you to call me by my name… Olga." He squeezed her hand in return, touching his forehead to hers cautiously. "Olga," he repeated, obeying immediately, "That really fits you. It's nice." She laughed and the sound was relieving. 

Despite the pressure between them, all they did was stare at each other for an agonizing moment, hands entwined. So close. But still, they didn't get any closer. After what felt like the whole afternoon, Siren cleared her throat and pulled away. "You haven't studied at all these past weeks," she said, "Should probably catch up." Of course, he obeyed. He was more than glad to just sit close to her and read quietly. However, after that, he couldn't help but chastise himself for not being even more direct. He tried to focus on reading something he barely remembered from weeks prior, but his mind kept going back to things he could say to Siren instead.

Fortunately, it seemed like she had the same problem, because she was the one to interrupt his frail concentration: "You know, for someone from the Ashen Valleys, you took the curse and the healers quite well." He put the book he was reading down and chuckled. "Ah, yeah," he said, "Well, I mostly brought that upon myself. Also… I've always been more on the curious side when it comes to that stuff." She laid her chin on her hand, elbow firmly resting on her desk. Her pen's ink slowly dried away. "Mm. So you're not scared?" she asked. "I am. Now more than ever. But… It's the same as fire. Interesting, I mean," he said. She smiled. "Though I wager you won't be writing home about it," she said, twisting her pen, "Since you're too desperate to be in my good graces."

"I won't," he said, turning to her completely, "About that, I thought you'd… take longer to come around." Siren shrugged. "Maybe I'm also desperate. Although a major part of it is that I was sort of glad to see you suffer the consequences of your actions," she said, touching the top of her pen to her chin. Then, she gave him a twisted smile. "I want you to take me seriously. And now you know." Her grin shot a warm wave through his body and he couldn't help but return it. "You did say you enjoy humiliation," he said, his tone graver, "Did you enjoy watching me suffer, then?" She closed her eyes for an instant, as if she had to ponder the answer. "It was somewhat sweet," she said, "But I was surprised to see how much it hurt me seeing the pain on your face." He took a deep breath, "You have no reason to feel bad. I did that to myself." She seemed content enough; he could see her bare feet swaying under her desk. "I like your attitude," she said.