notsogroovy

The pace of walking slows, and Charles looks something close to a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he tries to reach out and grab hold of one train of thought in order to respond accordingly. He knows that he can overreact, and he also knows, deep-down, that the excuses he uses to justify it aren't going to fly forever. But for now they will do.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" he asks with the tone of disapproval, trying to keep his voice as low as possible while still speaking loud enough to be heard. "The last thing that we need is for random young men to come and go. I haven't spent all of this time trying to protect us, to keep our home a secret, so that you can throw it all away for nothing more than a date." He glances back towards the restaurant, as if he can still see the gormless looking boy from where they stand out in the cold street, and he narrows his eyes. "It's too much of a risk."

He inhales deeply, picking up a little speed, because the sooner they are indoors and out of sight the better. "Perhaps we ought to reconsider how wise it is for you to be working such a stressful job in your...condition."