"Thanks," he said, moving to sit on the opposite end of the sofa and propping one elbow against the backrest so that he was facing her. "I feel better."

It was true, though it wasn't saying much, given that the last time they'd seen one another he had literally been on his deathbed. His health was also not what he'd asked her over to talk about, particularly — though given the circumstances it was a bit more on point than any other type of small talk might have been.

"So, uh," he began, brushing the fingertips of his left hand over the knee of his trousers and letting his eyes follow the subtle change in the shade of the fabric after he'd touched it. Anything to avoid making eye contact, he supposed, while he tried to collect his thoughts. "I suppose we could just pick up where we left off. Which was... with you saying you wanted me to stay," he continued after a moment, looking up at her now to see how she reacted.

Hopefully she'd meant it, and it hadn't just been the sort of emotional thing you say when you think people might be dying, because if she hadn't, he was probably going to make himself look silly in the next few minutes.

"I could stay," he said, which was a stupid, ridiculous thing to say in light of the fact that his chosen profession involved leaving the country for long periods of time, but those were the words that he heard leaving his mouth all the same. "If you really want me to. I just — I don't know what happens next. We could go back to what we were doing before, I suppose — sneaking around, meeting up like this — but... is that what you want?" he asked, voice pained.

It wasn't what he wanted for her, that was certain. It was less than she deserved, and it was risky — every time she flooed to his flat she ran the risk of someone overhearing and realizing that wasn't an address she had any business being at. Even if they didn't get caught (which was less and less likely the longer they carried on that way), every moment they spent together was another moment they didn't spend moving on. That might be fine for him, because, hell, he might be killed by this curse before it made any difference, anyway. For her, though, as for any woman in British society, there was only a window of a few years where she'd be able to pursue the traditional sort of happy ending. That window was always closing, and it was irresponsible of him to occupy her time or her thoughts when her father had made it quite clear that he wasn't going to feature in one of those traditional happy endings.