He slowed his steps and looked behind him and to the sides, craning his head slightly. Facing forward again, Howell shrugged and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Doesn't seem to be anyone around."
Though Howell was an inherently private person, he didn't seem to crave that privacy the way that Saoirse did. So, he tried his best to be sensitive about her discomfort of people seeing them publically, just as she tried to relax her strict attitudes about publicity for him. Besides, after Galvin Gudgeon stumbling upon them had essentially destroyed their first relationship, a man wised up when presented with a second chance.
Exhausted himself, he rocked back on his heels and breathed in quietly, studying Saoirse thoughtfully. Who knew better than Howell how well Saoirse could take care of herself? But that didn't stop him from being concerned about her. He hated playing against Saoirse, even when it was "in fun," but that was unfortunately their lot in life, for the time being. She looked about as well as one could when playing for twelve continuous hours, though intense scrutiny was needed to see where the real wear and tear lay on her.
But he didn't ask her how she was doing, if she was all right, or anything about the match. Instead, choosing not to heed the way she withdrew from him, Howell walked to where she sat and slid down the wall and support beams to sit beside her, reaching out a hand to hold her fair one. "You know, I've been thinking."
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