[ truthfully, he's not even paying attention to the reaction, already over at the bar and grabbing both of them a drink, so it startles him when vi grabs onto his wrist, turning around to look at her and blinking, too.

there's a beat, sort of a restart, as how big of a deal this just is crashes over him all at once.

and - well, listen, he's not stupid, he can tell when something hit the mark - the surprise turns to confusion turns to a brief, slightly searching look back. ]

... [ and then, slowly, it softens, and strohl exhales out, a soft huff, head tilting to the side. there's something pulling at his tone, a wryness, but it's no joke. recognition, maybe, instead. ]

I'm not in the habit of saying things I don't mean to people I care about. [ and his words carry all of their normal weight, too. ] Especially ones I thought were gone for good.

[ he sets the drink he was holding back down to give her his full attention, full self, full response. truth and nobility, - you wear your emotions on your sleeve, don't you? virtuosa had asked him, after the trial, and she wasn't wrong. ]

... I like to think I've a sense for these kinds of things. People who're good - people who're worth fighting with, worth fighting for. People who I'd be honoured to stand beside. It's how I felt about Will. How I felt about Hulkenberg. And here, I could've just stuck to her, stuck with what I knew, not talked to anyone else. Instead, I met you, and I got that same exact feeling.

I think that's pretty right person, right place, right time. Or, well. Wrong place, because this place's bloody awful. But, you get my drift.