He won't think of it as her winning just because he's taken a step in her direction. He's still puzzling over her being here in the first place - because it doesn't seem right for anyone he knows to be here - but it can wait, of course.

At least, he thinks it can. He's still reeling from the fact that he's somehow managed to land himself in space. But that's just one more thing that can wait until he has the mental capacity to deal with it.

The muscles at the side of his jaw twitch as he unconsciously grits his teeth. He wants to understand the drive behind what she'd done, because he hasn't exactly gotten the chance to discuss it with her; it's on his list of things to do, though. Even if he isn't the best with words, or figuring out how to approach things without turning them into something they aren't.

(Read: in any case, a big deal.)

For this very moment, though, he isn't moving forward. That one step is all he's allowing himself for the time being, just because he doesn't actually know what he would say to her once he got close enough that it seemed feasible. He realizes, in some rational thought-processing portion of his brain that one of them needs to make the first move. To say something, to close the distance between them - something - but somehow he doesn't think that's going to happen.

So, for now? He's going to have a staring contest with a teenage girl.