"I'll be fine," he says, though he does eventually turn back around and walk normally again. He kind of has to look at where he's going once they're out, avoiding people again.

"At least you'll have something to keep you busy. That's good." He chooses not to question her 'not being able to tell him' this time. He just can't bring himself to drag her mood down too much (maybe he's happy for her, but that's a hard feeling for him to recognize).

He stops in front of a place that looks to be, at first glance, some kind of a flower shop or a cafe, save for it being three stories high. The whole thing is well-tended and beautifully presented, from the style of the low iron gate to the ivy crawling up the walls. He tugs her towards the door, amused by the fact that they've settled into a habit of holding hands.

"This place is nice," he says, "I'll snag a room for a little while. We can get drinks after, or something..." He glances distractedly at a menu for a moment, honestly compelled to get some cocoa or something. He loves that stuff.

But the task at hand is more important, so he lets go of her hand to head to the front desk and ask for a room. He can't help but think that maybe then, if they're alone, she'd be a little more inclined to tell him these mysterious details of hers.