He should tell her, he should tell her; it becomes like a mantra in Elvis' head, low-level but persistent, and yet still overshadowed it is just by how damn nice it is to be near her. It's probably stupid to keep coming back to the unexpectedness of hearing her say things like that when he really thought he lost her — she's here now, after all — but considering what happened, how utterly empty everything had seemed after she left and he got home to find his dad's body, he doesn't think he could be blamed for it. Of course he'd come back to that. He almost made the biggest mistake of his life; he almost ended his life. She's everything the opposite of how he felt that afternoon, though. His hand curls gently in the fabric over her waist, nose brushing against her cheek when he leans in, and there are ways this could be better, surely, but not many.

"You could stay with me," he says, "you know, if you want." He should be more concerned, maybe, with the fact that they're eighteen and stuck on a magic island that's unpredictable at best, but it's difficult to concern himself with much other than the fact that she's here, that he gets a second chance same as she did. And anyway, who knows? Maybe they'll get another miracle. "Plenty of room."