The kiss comes as something of a shock, and for a moment he just stands there stiffly, vividly embarrassed and briefly incapable of coherent thought. It was utterly chaste and entirely platonic; a simple expression of fondness. That's obvious. It's all the more inconvenient, therefore, that it serves as the final cog in his slow, awkward realization that he might have fallen in love with a space-and-time ship.

Love isn't really the right word, at least not in the strictest romantic sense. He respects and reveres her, is hopelessly fascinated by her, feels protected and safe with her. He feels a certain longing to be around her, which he recognizes as the same strange attraction that drew him to her when they first met in the park. It's all very complicated and he's not sure how to cope with it.

He's extremely relieved when she changes the subject.

"Holy shit," he murmurs when his brain starts working again. He stares at the image above him, dizzy with the sensation of looking into eternity. He doesn't really understand it, but that's okay. "It's beautiful."