He has not wished to speak of it directly, lacking both the experience and the vocabulary for such things, but she has provided him an avenue for exploration and he can't avoid it. Already it wears on him when his mind is idle (which is not often, but it does happen), and if these unanswered questions keep distracting him, it is only a matter of time before his carefully constructed performance for the rest of the village begins to slip.

He turns the mug of mulled wine slowly between his hands, regarding it as he asks his question. "Is that what we are?" When he lifts his eyes to look at her, his gaze is uncharacteristically unguarded. "Friends?" Friends who fuck on a mountaintop after desecrating a saint's shrine.