You're afraid to look at her, now.
Afraid to be caught with that soft look in your eyes, when you're lost in wonderment that such a perfect creature could exist. Afraid of the fear that bubbles in the pit of your stomach that she just might look back and decipher you like some weathered prothean inscription baking under the superheated light of a foreign star.
Fuck if you need to look, though. Her standing at your elbow alone is exhilarating. You feel it like a gravitational pull. You feel it like ten stim packs in succession.
It's too much at once and just enough. And you sneak a look anyway.