Had Therese been Howell this whole time? With the amount of swiftness their faces morphed from one to the other, Michal felt inclined to believe so. Which, was strange, for he had never thought that Howell resembled his ex-girlfriend before, but he supposed it wouldn't be the first time he'd found himself fondling the side of Howell's face with care.
"Howell," Michal hissed, once his bearings were caught (had no one else felt that shift in gravity? The floor had moved). His own feet slipped beneath him.
"Has anyone ever---" His lips pressed together in an amused manner, now finding his own thoughts deeply amusing. Head knocking about, on a whim it fell to rest on the younger wizard's shoulder. Nose pressed to Howell's robes, Michal immediately wondered why his friend's neck smelled like perfume.
"You look just like Therese," Michal mumbled, a hint of regret in his tone. His brow furrowed, and moving enough, his chin popped out so that his blurry eyes could gaze over Howell's shoulder. "I thought you were her, I thought---"
His dejected tone immediately died, and all at once, Michal's flopping hands seized whatever body part of Howell they could grip. His body straightened, and like a beast being beckoned by its beacon, Michal immediately began to trudge forward with Howell in tow, despite said direction being the very way Howell had been walking.
"SAOIRSE MULLET!" Michal screeched, after having spotted her absolutely refusing to let her out of sight. He had Howell here, and she was there, he could force them to sit down together (with him) and then--- Michal turned to smile brilliantly at Howell. Saoirse Mullet was here.
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