It was dark still when they went out into the backyard – just after three in the morning, according to Danielle's phone, which she had to use as a flashlight to find their way to the fire pit. The secluded little area was, of course, far too sophisticated to call any fire made there a campfire, with the pit's sleek stone rim and the undoubtedly expensive set of outdoor lounge furniture surrounding it, but she'd have expected nothing less. Even with the comfort of a chest filled with dry firewood and a small box of wood shavings to serve as tinder, though, it took Hunt several tries to get the fire burning.

Briefly, Danielle had considered offering to make the fire instead, knowing it would have taken her half the time it had him, but he was quite adorable to look at, and the little triumphant grin on his face once he finally succeeded made the wait well worth it.

"I should have let that interior decorator install an indoor fireplace like he wanted to," Hunt grumbled as he opened up a black wicker chest that served as a coffee table and took out several slate grey cushions, handing them to her. "But I didn't know I'd have to burn potential blackmail material in the dead of night one day."

Danielle chuckled and placed the cushions on the wicker sofa. "Let the record show that burning it was your idea, not mine. I could have taken the box back with me and destroyed all of it myself."

"Mhm, and you'd have done just that?" Hunt raised a questioning eyebrow, making it known that he didn't believe she would have for one second.

She scoffed. "Well, I did delete all those photos I showed you. And those I didn't show you."

"You did?" he asked, seeming genuinely surprised. "You've let me keep this even though you didn't have any of the pictures anymore?"

Danielle shrugged. "I still have the ones Viktor has. They're still in my wallet, and I'd say they're pretty bad."

"Yes, but—"

She interrupted him, unwilling to talk about the fact she'd trusted him blindly when, clearly, she shouldn't have, and nodded to the fire. "More kindling, Hunt, if you don't want it to go out again."

With a sigh, he went to fetch some smaller pieces of wood and added them to the fire. He was silent for a moment, looking into the flames, before he turned back to Danielle. "I should have talked to you. Before… I should have talked to you."

"You should have," she said with a firm nod, then sat down on the wicker sofa. The cushions were surprisingly soft and comfortable, considering it was outdoor furniture. Then again, she really shouldn't have been surprised by it. It was Hunt's, after all, and she couldn't imagine Hunt voluntarily subjecting himself to uncomfortable seating – whether it was in- or outdoors. "It doesn't matter now, anyway. You can't change what you did, and all we can do is be glad Ethan has as many contacts as he does."

Hunt threw another piece of wood into the fire, then came over to sit down next to her though he made sure there was a good bit of space between them. "It does matter. I overreacted because I was hurt, and I could have ruined your life. Hell, I wanted to ruin your life, and I… I don't know how to make up for that."

"Then why, Hunt? I've fucked you over a million times, I know that, and you could have very well ruined my life back when I was in university. So what changed? Why do it now?" She shook her head. "If we must talk about it, just tell me why."

He was quiet for a short while, then swallowed hard. "It was different this time, I suppose. We'd just talked… and I… you made a point when we spoke, that I hadn't considered before."

"What point?" she asked, trying to recall their conversation. It had been less than a day ago, but it seemed so far away. What had she said, then, that could have changed anything at all?

Hunt sighed. "We were talking about how you're not my student anymore, and you asked me what you are to me."

"I did," she said. She remembered. His lack of response had been disappointing – though not unexpected. "You didn't answer."

He shook his head. "No, I didn't, but I did think about it. And the truth is, we're not friends. And we don't normally work together, and… you're just a former student."

"Just a former student," she echoed, quietly. It shouldn't have hurt, being the truth and all, but it did.

Hunt spoke again, then. "I realised that that isn't what I want. You're not supposed to be… someone I used to teach; a stranger. I want… I want…" He trailed off.

"What?" Danielle asked when it became clear that he wasn't going to elaborate further. "What is it that you want, Hunt?" The sadness and hurt she'd felt just seconds ago faded into anger – why couldn't he just tell her what he meant to say? – and she raised her voice. "It's never going to be the same way it was back then, and it shouldn't be. I'm no longer a student – or the student or whatever else you try to tell yourself to justify how you treated me – and you're not, nor will you ever be again, my professor. So, tell me, what do you want?"

Thomas didn't have an answer to that. He wasn't sure he even knew just what he wanted, let alone knew how to tell her. What he did know, however, was that he didn't want her to leave. And that had nothing to do with the box that sat just next to the fire pit and its contents that still needed to be disposed of. No, he wanted her to be there, with him, and perhaps that would be answer enough.

"I don't know," he admitted, and he could tell that Danielle was about to say something again – likely tell him that that wasn't what she wanted to hear – but he held up a hand to silence her. "All I know is that I don't want to not have you in my life. I don't want to not speak to you. Perhaps…" He took a deep breath. It wasn't quite what he wanted, but it might be close enough for now. Until he knew – and could ask for – what he truly wanted. "Perhaps we could be friends?"

Danielle regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. Thomas could tell it wasn't what she'd wanted him to say, either, but she agreed nonetheless. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we could be friends."