Byrne all of a sudden felt a huge weight in his chest, realizing just what he had said to her. He cared about her. How could he care about anyone? Perhaps there had been recent times when he might have had a small fraction of a worry about another person's well-being, but he wouldn't have admitted that. But now, he had. It wasn't even necessarily the fact that it was romantic that bothered him. It was the act of putting his emotions onto another person, leaving him open to any sorts of trouble.

He wanted to take back and deny what he had said, to reinforce the image that he was an uncaring man, but she wouldn't believe him. He didn't know whether Nabooru thought he cared for her platonically or romantically, because he wasn't even sure either. Did it matter? No, not particularly. The act of caring itself was unfamiliar, so the boundaries eluded him.

And then she asked if they were okay. He didn't know how to answer that. He may have begrudgingly accepted her position as a Sage and her unwillingness to abandon it, but he wasn't sure if he could handle anymore of this relationship. He didn't want to stand by and watch as she got herself killed, and it would just be so much easier to break it off, to stop caring, to be angry at her all the time.

But when looking at Nabooru and her beautiful, pleading eyes, he couldn't say no. Perhaps he should trust her. She was wise beyond her years, he knew, despite telling her otherwise, so perhaps she would succeed. Just perhaps.

So, he nodded at her initial question, but when she asked about the wrestling, he had to decline. Out in the public, with everyone watching, even if the "wrestling" was purely just what the name was and nothing more, he couldn't stand to see Nabooru's desert-tanned skin succumb to frostbite.

"I'd rather not, seeing what you're wearing."