What was he thinking? Not much of anything, for very long. His mind seemed to be operating on a series of short scenes rather than thoughts. He imagined her getting caught up with some other bloke while he was out to sea, but pushed the image away with distaste. He pictured the two of them getting into trouble together (more trouble than kissing in an abandoned stateroom) but buried that thought before it could bloom into the sort of thing he had trouble diverting his thoughts from. He created at least ten different versions of how he might find her upon his eventual return to England, even if it did occur only three months from now. Everything might have changed, or nothing might have changed, and he wasn't sure which to hope for.

"I wish I knew a better way to do this," he said, honestly. He wished that she'd asked to kiss him after he'd returned to England instead of before he'd left. He wished he knew what the future held. He wished there was a way of protecting her — from what, he wasn't sure. From everything, he supposed; from life and the world and disappointment and herself.

There were really only two options, though, and neither of them were ideal. He couldn't tell her to wait for him, and risk leaving her heartbroken and hopeful and hurting the way he'd done to Lily the last time he'd left. He'd already tried telling her to move on, though, and somehow here they were.

"I shouldn't have brought you down here," he mumbled, eyes sinking down to her waist. "This was stupid."