WHO: HOWELL WILLIAMS & SAOIRSE MULLET!
WHAT: DEAD AND GONE
WHERE: appleby stadium!
WHEN: after the match!

Following their conversation, Saoirse had decided she didn’t need to think about whether or not she would meet Howell again, because there simply wasn’t the time for it. There was no time, she didn’t have the luxury of entertaining the idea of him (though if he wanted to distract himself with thoughts of her, then she wasn’t going to stop him), and it just--- she--- just didn’t! Bad timing, it was all poor timing, and that wasn’t her fault. So she had no problem tucking all this away to focus on things she thought more important.

But now that the match was won and over, and preparing to depart from Appleby stadium with the free weekend ahead, Saoirse couldn’t help but let her mind stray. Well maybe, once her schedule freed up, then... it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to see him again. She couldn’t even lie and say... the sight of him hadn’t sparked something within her (at first she thought it distraction, and within those moments of gameplay she couldn’t have hated him more), but after calming down she realized it wasn’t that. It was interest, maybe? Or, intrigue concerning what this just once more meant, to him. To her too, she supposed.

And that had made her think, maybe now could be that one more time. There was a possibility, he could still be here, she was still here. The match had long ago ended and stadium was from what she could tell empty, but--- maybe. Maybe! This fleeting thought invigorated her, and Saoirse stored her things and proceeded to her new destination with an unfamiliar lightness within.

She hadn’t really done something so spur-of-the-moment like this before, and after about three seconds of waiting outside the visiting team’s locker room, Saoirse knew why. It was unbearable, lingering like what she felt like a fool, to create a situation that might have already passed. By the time Howell appeared, she had concealed herself fully behind one of the many columns littered along the corridor out of fear of being seen. She supposed she should have stepped out and announced her presence, but by the time she collected herself he had already begun to walk by and---

Saoirse jutted her hand out, grabbing for the first thing she could get ahold of--- his lower arm. She skidded slightly, as she had not cemented herself down to the ground very well, and looked up at Howell’s face with the intent of saying something. But Saoirse suddenly had nothing to say, and therefore didn’t speak.

Howell might have been hiding.

All things considered, he had good reason to be. It had been a difficult match. His head hadn't been in the game so far, he could admit to that. A lot of it probably had to do with Saoirse, certainly today, which made him think approaching her at the wedding had been a bad idea after all, since he hadn't seen her for so long during the season, and had done just fine. So not only were the Falcons on a steady losing streak (were it not for their advantage, he shuddered to think of where they would be ranked now), but his teammates had ragged the stuffing out of him before the match for what they thought had happened at the wedding. After losing to the subject of said ragging, his teammates likely just wanted the stuffing out of him, period.

Naturally, then, after the match, he found it of the utmost importance that he utilise the changing room's shower right then and there, and waited til the last of his teammates had shuffled out before dressing himself. His fingers were still slightly pruned, and Howell was fairly certain his ears and brain were waterlogged.

Changing quickly, he slung his bag over his shoulder and looked forward to a quiet, restful weekend that awaited him. Take Jago on a nice hike, turn up at least twice on the Frobishers' doorstep, see if he could squeeze in Benjy and Cordy for an hour or two. A perfect weekend and a perfect way to clear his head come Monday. It wasn't too late to regain some of their lost ground. This was supposed to be the year of the Falcons, he could feel it.

On his way out the door, he felt the touch to his arm and balled his fist as he prepared to shrug it off and take a warning shot, sure it was Michal back again to mock. He dropped it abruptly when he saw just who had taken ahold of him.

Blinking, Howell very brilliantly said, "Hi."

She had been waiting with seeming directness, yes, but that apparently meant nothing within the confines of her mind. Saoirse suddenly felt like she had no idea what she was doing, and certainly hadn’t the slightest idea in what to say. She wouldn’t belittle him with a complimentary comment concerning the game, because his team had lost, and she certainly wouldn’t take it a step further to praise his individual performance, for that would imply she had focused her attention on places it shouldn’t have been. So...

Saoirse tightened her grip on his arm, wishing Howell could simply understand these feelings that she couldn’t put into words through her clutch alone. But that was preposterous, conveniently another emotion slowly filling her with every passing second that she continued to simply stare at him. Had she not truly believed she would’ve caught him, was that it? She supposed, if this had not worked out, it would have been easy put off another attempt, for she would have have made an easy excuse about the first one failing for a reason.

This spur-of-the-moment thing was really, really not her forte, and therefore not something she was enjoying.

Not sure how else to act, Saoirse fell back into the familiarity of how she used to handle herself around him. She stepped back toward the wall, pulling at his arm in hopes of having him follow suit. Or at least, step out of plain sight. With her other hand, she reached to grip the front of his chest.

“You said you wanted to meet again,” she said slowly, her brow furrowing slightly. Saoirse locked her eyes on his face, thinking she needed to take special notice in his response.

If he hadn't actually fallen asleep in the shower and potentially drowned, then Howell was quite certain his brain had remained behind when she tugged him towards her. The shock made him very easy to pull around, and he was momentarily surprised his knees remained able to support his weight.

Once he had a semblance of his bearings back, it seemed very possible to Howell that Saoirse wasn't actually aware of what one of her hands was doing. Being that his goal was to have her continue to touch him, he shouldn't have done something that might draw her attention to what was happening, such as staring almost in open-mouthed wonder at the fist of hers willingly clutching at his front. But he was. So taken aback by her initiation of contact that he nearly missed what she said, then had to close his eyes and play it again, just to make certain he hadn't misheard.

"I did," he told her, taking a chance and covering the hand on his chest with one of his own. Had she just come because her team had won? He didn't think Saoirse was the type to come gloat, but he wondered where she would be right now if the reversed had happened.

Were that true, and that was the reason she was standing before him presently, Howell would have been disappointed, but if he was being honest, he wouldn't have been deterred. That, however, was information he'd just keep to himself for the time being. "Wasn't sure you did, though."

What? Why was he making that face? Saoirse’s furrowed brow deepened, and instinctively she leaned back. Hadn’t that--- why was that worthy of such a response? She had grabbed his front many times before, what made now any different?

Maybe that was an answer best left unaddressed.

Feeling like she had done something wrong, Saoirse thought next to let go of him, but the decision occurred a beat too late. As soon as she had decided upon this, Howell had covered his hand over hers, and his hold felt unbearably, and immovably, red hot. Her comfort level dramatically decreased, and not knowing what else to do, she dropped her grip on his arm.

And then, she bristled further, for she did not understand the point of his statement. He had asked... for her to think about... which she had (albeit sparingly, which she was on the verge of thinking had been a misjudgement), so... here she was. What more... what point... her opposite shoulder to her hand on him leaned back slightly, and Saoirse felt like she was missing something.

“Well, I’m here now,” she let out cautiously. Had she wrongly assumed what he had been thinking, intending for this to mean? Saoirse had thought Howell wanted to start up what they were in the summer again, but did he want something more? Less? She also hadn’t thought that perhaps now was not the best of times to approach him, because she knew if the roles were reversed, her reception to him would have been about as warm as a tundric blizzard.

"So you are." His thumb thoughtlessly stroked up and down the back of her hand as he studied her. She was a cool, composed creature, and even victory didn't leave much of a stamp on Saoirse if she didn't want it to. So if Howell hoped to discern why she had been waiting for him outside, the answer wasn't readily apparent from her face.

Howell might have managed a chilly greeting towards her for a brief moment or two, had his first instinct upon seeing her not been relief. It was sort of hard to want to turn away one of the few things that came to mind for righting a very wrong week—providing he left the encounter with his self-esteem intact, which was getting to be a bit of a gamble. She was looking at him a bit warily, but Saoirse hadn't tugged her hand back yet. He even loosened his grip on it, slowing the brushing of his fingers along her skin. "And I suppose I'm wondering why that is."

Why, needing to know why, it was such a thing with this girl. Howell never tended to question much in his life, as the strangeness and turbulence simply had to be accepted after a point, but he couldn't stop himself around her. Or in this case, it was a need to know, yes, but also needing to hear her say it aloud—whatever it might be. Howell wanted to be with her again, nearly in any way she'd allow it, but he needed something back, something more than their brief summer dalliance had been, which hadn't been much. "And," he added quietly, holding up a finger on his other hand to silence any withering or deflecting comments she might have made, "you can't say it's because I asked you to, as I've done so before and that hasn't mattered."

High-pitched screaming filled her ears, and it took Saoirse a few moments to realize it was only in her head. What he was doing, with his fingers, followed by his incredibly demanding (in her opinion) questions, was not--- most definitely not the reason why she had sought him out. Why weren’t they snogging already? That was all she wanted. Instead, she got this finger that wanted to know things she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to speak out about. And a ghosting touch that practically drove her up the wall.

Saoirse’s face screwed up tight, and her eyes slitted. He-- he--- no. No! He didn’t just get to descend upon her, at a party the day before playoffs, then make her experience these thoughts, and emotions, and then--- demand to ask her why she acted the way she did. They were not--- that wasn’t fair.

And then, it dawned on her that perhaps she had thought wrong. That, maybe, she had misled herself, or even worse, trusted him to be experiencing the same thing she had, because what if all he wanted was answers from her? Ones he couldn’t figure out on his own, with the final intent of only making himself feel better in the end? She could be wrong about him, because how unassuming could a scorned ego be? A Falcon scorned ego, one that was looking to explain away why a relatively insignificant girl had so easily turned high tail on him. And not only that, but one that he had freshly lost to---

These thoughts flying through her head, Saoirse quickly ripped her hand out of his grasp, and in the same motion, swatted his pointed hand down. “I don’t have to explain every thought and action I have to you,” she said coolly, watching his face tensely. She began to take deep, silent breaths as her thoughts ran fast downhill, and before she knew it, she simply could not stand not understanding why he had initiated this entire sequence of events.

“What do you want from me?” Saoirse demanded, burying her hands underneath her crossed arms over her chest. He was severely mistaken if he thought he could... push her into.... she shook these lingering thoughts from her head, at the same time attempting to bury deep what budding emotions she thought she’d had about him.

Wasn't his an honest question? Hadn't she told him they had no time for this, that she, they, were busy? Howell bit back the rare urge to swear, because she ran hotter and colder on him than anyone else of his acquaintance, probably anyone of anyone's acquaintance, and he could not for the life of him figure out why her defences persisted in being so quick to go up. It was reasons like this that he chose to never open his mouth; inevitably, he thought he'd say something stupid, and sometimes he knew it was, yet said it anyway. Damned if he didn't think she'd cut his tongue off if he just swooped in, though. Howell would have dispensed with even a greeting as he pulled her to him, were that the case.

But he'd like if she'd acknowledge that it was even a little bit his business when she chose thoughts and actions that involved him, and his emotions. "You." He shoved away from the column and let his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor without a flinch at its sound echoing in the empty hall. "That's what I want from you."

When he spoke again, his words were rawer than he'd have liked as he crushed one fist into his chest, right over his heart. "You've got twisted up into me, Saoirse." It had snuck up on him—she had snuck up on him, and left him and his head (and perhaps his heart) quite a jumble in her wake.

He pushed closer to her, crowding her but being unable to stop himself. At least, though, he hadn't grabbed her elbows the way he felt compelled to, wanting her to listen, to really hear him, just once. Still, he reached out towards Saoirse, to touch her, to reach for the silky ends of her hair, to do something, before catching himself and fisting his hand, pulling it back,

"Is it really so bad to want to know if you feel the same way, even a little, when you keep pushing me back?" Howell asked softly.

She immediately felt petty for assuming, even within the confines of her mind, and going to a place where the only answer was the worst. It had never been like that, and he certainly had never acted that way, so why she had thought... Saoirse swallowed thickly. The time to discuss her own personal struggle was not now, as Howell opened his heart to her. A guilty look appeared on her face.

He had made his intentions clear last week, yes, but that didn’t... perhaps it was simply the honestness, the complete and utter frankness (--her), which made her jaw drop slightly. She had never experienced something like this before. It would have been overpowering, if not at the same time he hadn’t made her heart sputter alive and drop its heavy armor. Her? Her. Twisted up into him. Her.

Saoirse did not fall back as he closed in on her, and after he had finished, she brought her hands up to hold the sides of his face gently. She appreciated his thoughtful hesitation, and it gave her the willpower to be as truthful and candid as he was being. She knew she tended to unintentionally (and intentionally) push him away, and for that, he deserved her full attention, honesty, and disclosure.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping he would understand what the apology was for. She supposed a part of it was for her malicious thoughts, but more importantly for that she’d relatively no idea this was how he felt. And how she had gone about assuming something different. “It’s not wrong. I just didn’t realize...” Saoirse inclined her head toward his, tilting it to watch his face with care. “I’m not good at...” she trailed off, unsure about how to continue.

These were not the responses he so adamantly sought. It was simply deflection, another ruse to avoid the obvious, she thought. Because her heart was pounding, and it was amazing how quickly these feelings took over her, but her knees suddenly felt unable to support her own weight, and his skin felt so smooth in her hands, so much so that she scolded herself for so easily attempting to shut it all down with such ferociousness. Saoirse pulled her lips back, and briefly released her hands from him before putting them back to place. How difficult was it to say how she felt? Very, apparently, as she stretched this pregnant pause. She began to feel frustrated with herself, because what could possibly be holding her back?

“Howell---” she let out, voice strained. It was easy, it was what she wanted. To get what she wanted; it was not making a moral compromise, nothing to be ashamed of. Yet--- Saoirse went up on her toes out of almost anxiety, and desperate need to be as close to him as she could get to say this.

“I like you, I do,” she spoke quietly, but clearly and firmly as she could, because the last thing she wanted was for him to think she felt ashamed of him or her feelings. It wasn’t that. “But it--- startles me because I’ve never experienced anything like this before, and I didn’t think, when we first met, it would turn into--- that you would be so... charming.” Saoirse blushed, a little, as she felt embarrassed with herself for feeling embarrassed.

“And maybe I used the excuse of getting caught by your teammate to... stop my budding... feelings for you, but that doesn’t change that they still exist. And I didn’t want to get hurt, so...” she tightened her grip on him, hoping he would understand, that that would be enough for him to understand how she felt. “I’m not--- I don’t---” Saoirse let out a frustrated breath, the power of eloquent speech once again having left her.

Stunned. That's what Howell felt. The explanations he'd asked for all summer, but had been rebuffed. An apology. An admission of how she felt about him? Stunned. Shocked. Surprised. From the moment her fingertips grazed his skin, there was a strange roaring sensation in his ears that stopped all his thoughts and made him fear he'd actually misheard or misunderstood everything she said.

But she lingered, and when she didn't draw back, when the words began to stutter from Saoirse's mouth, he didn't need to be thinking when he took her chin in his hand and tilted it up the rest of the way, bending to kiss her. Again. Finally.

His other arm slid around her waist, pressing her against him so there was no space to speak of between them—but it was an entirely unconscious gesture, as he was lost with the taste of her. It had been months, so many months, that he had begun to wonder if he'd simply dreamt up how explosive, how consuming the encounters between them had been. He hadn't. If anything, the passage of time had dulled his memories of the sensations.

When breathing became a necessity, he broke apart but not away, as his forehead dropped to touch hers. "I like you, too," he said, breathless. Would it overwhelm her, were he to list all the reasons why? Because he could do that. Laughing once, he eased back. "If you couldn't tell."

Words didn't come easily to either one of them, and that had undoubtedly caused problems before and up til this moment. He didn't need her to be good at anything, didn't need her to be eloquent, he just needed her, just needed to hear, once, that he hadn't invented everything meaningful between them. But he could appreciate what her admission had cost her, and thought it best to keep to himself the number of beats his heart had skipped in the last three minutes.

He took his hand from her chin to the one of hers that cupped his right cheek, holding it in place as he turned his head slightly to kiss its palm. Not willing to relinquish his hold on her, when he might have otherwise stepped back, his tone turned cautious. "Does this mean you'll give us a chance?"

Saoirse blinked dazedly, as it was her turn to feel senseless. His kiss... it made her heart pound so hard it ached, it made her want to give up breathing, because, then, she would never have to part from him, it made her body feel weak but in the most absolute wonderful of ways, it made her feel--- like--- the entire world could come down and she simply wouldn’t care as long as Howell held her, and kissed her, like that.

Her eyes closed and she pressed her lips together, something of a small smile forming as he rested his forehead to hers. Her skin felt alive, he jolted it alive at his mere touch. She couldn’t control her heavy breathing, she simply didn’t care to, for what did that matter? Feeling light-headed, one of her hands lost its grip on his face and fell to his chest, but for the life of her would she not let it go any further; it clung tightly to his front.

And then, her mouth dropped and an entirely too sensational noise escaped her as he put his lips to the inside of her hand. It was just her palm, and yet it was like she could feel every nerve, every pore in her skin burst alive at the contact of his lips. His lips, the ones she wanted back on hers again even though it barely seemed like she would be able to handle it---

“Yes,” Saoirse rushed, ignoring the small inquiry within her as how he could even ask that. Yes, yes--- what little space Howell had created between them, she quickly closed again. Her free hand jumped up to the back of his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair.

He liked her, he liked her--- she liked him. This thought kept playing through her head, and as Saoirse stared at his face, she realized there was a bit of apprehension spread across it. Her pointed feet dropped back down to the ground, and she swallowed purposely in an attempt to become composed. But she did not let go of her fast grip on him, not for a second.

“Yes,” she repeated, attempting her very best at sounding controlled.

She said yes.

He breathed out, and couldn't stop the quiet smile that spread across his face when she said it again.

Perhaps it had been good, all this time apart after their brief summer. Perhaps if it hadn't happened, he wouldn't feel as strongly about her as he now did. Life had taught Howell that happiness was fleeting, and nothing lasted. So when you did find it, anything that filled you with that warmth, inspired happiness and laughter and a glow in you, you took hold of it with all the selfishness you possessed. He had done just that, and it filled with him a fierce, savage sort of pleasure—relief—there was no word that fully encompassed the way he felt.

A yes didn't mean a big public declaration. It didn't have a solid promise for the future, and it meant no other guarantees besides the one he'd gotten: a real chance for something to happen, to explore this thing that had taken root between them when they hadn't been looking. So just for that, he kissed her soundly again, her face grasped delicately between his hands.

Though he pulled back, his lips still whispered against hers as he said, "Well, that's that." He took hold of her hand with one of his, and with the other, reached down to pick up his bag and sling it over his shoulder. His mind was abuzz with the possibilities opening up to him, the two of them, for tonight, for the weekend, for—who knew when. There was a wry twist to his lips as he squeezed her fingers lightly. "What do you say we go somewhere quiet and celebrate your victory?"

A thick haze filled her head as he kissed her again, and his lips felt so entirely pleasurable that all she could do was stand still, with her arms by her sides, and hope it would not be brief. How could he taste so sublime?

His smile made her warm, and in an attempt to hide her blossoming blush, Saoirse looked down at the ground. Her rosy cheeks, however, did not stop her from weaving her fingers through his as they slowly walked.

She had no idea how she'd seemingly been able to withstand him for this long, so easily let go of the potential that was how she felt now--- she didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to think about... how his touch made her heart race, how currently, this happiness that she was experiencing... when was the last time she had felt this happy? And relieved? And excited! Nervous--- there was more, so many more emotions she couldn’t begin to describe coursing through her, and for that, Saoirse clutched his hand a bit tighter.

Celebrate? Saoirse shook her head. They didn’t need to do that. He didn’t need to do that. For in celebrating her good standings, they would be snubbing his poor circumstances. “No celebrating,” she said, watching Howell out of the corner of her eye. “Just... someplace quiet.”