Tina doesn't say anything, and she doesn't have to. Not really. The silence suits them both, perfect and intimate in the wake of such confessions. Newt can't seem to keep himself from smiling, or from running his spare hand through his hair in a flustered manner.

He feels as though someone has hit his heart with Wingardium Leviosa and his lungs with the Jelly-Leg Jinx; he's torn between melting and flying.

And then Tina leans in to kiss him again, warming him even further. He's grinning stupidly by the time she pulls back, reaching out to pull her close so he can rest his head against hers.