"I don't know," she admits, and it's that she doesn't know what it is, and she's big into labels, because labels let her sort her life, and maybe part of the reason she doesn't feel bad, that she's not lost in guilt is because he's not asking her to love him, and he's not asking her to date him, and he's letting her choose. And she's saying he's something different, but she doesn't know what that is, but all she knows--

"Reschedule," she says, and this time it's not a question, and her eyes flick from his mouth to his eyes. "Just today, okay?" Because she wants to spend- no, because she's going to spend it with him, and she moves enough to down the blood she needs so that her head calms down, so it stops pounding. "What do you want to know about me?" She asks it after she rinses out her mouth from the gross-tasting blood, and she pads to his bed, slipping back into it because she wants to curl up and be comfortable and she doesn't care if he sits on the edge of the bed or whatever, because she's not compromising. "And don't say everything."