A soft sigh escapes her as his hand touches her cheek. A precious thing that she had assumed to be lost has now been found. Warmth floods her body, frothy and light, making her feel a bit like she could be lifted right off the ground if it weren't for his arms around her, his mouth on hers. It isn't the passionate, rushed embrace of their last kiss. Anya isn't chasing after something that she is desperate not to lose. She isn't looking to hold onto something that is already gone. This is a softer, gentler kiss. Nothing like this had happened before they arrived in Darrow, nothing remotely close to it. It never really occurred to her.

Now that she knows this feeling, knows Gleb beyond a uniform and a boy on the other side of a fence during a dark time, she doesn't want to forget it. There is no rush in this. No hasty cataloging of his touch, of her mouth on his as she opens it slightly for him, cards her hand in his hair, feels his stubble against her skin. Time breathes in this kiss, soft and certain, assuring of others that will be next.

Her parents always assured her that she would have love. They let her sisters have their romances even as the walls closed in around them. Love is a light, a guiding force. It undid them all in the end. After the darkness cut her off from her past, there was just that promise of love, of family, of belonging that kept her warm as she trekked across Russia. It wasn't romantic. It was a place to rest her head. That is what Gleb is. Something scary and safe and unknown all at once. A person who will let her rest at last.