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Bradley was so overly conscious of him and his presence.  Well… everything about him.  Whenever Colin was around, it was inexplicable.  Like an oncoming storm you could taste in the air or a battle chant heard from miles away.

And Bradley had to try his hardest to ignore him.  To mind his gaze and keep his attention elsewhere.  He thought he was pretty good at it for an actor…

But then there were those slight moments.  Moments when he couldn’t help but let his eyes slip over to him.  Eoin would chat him up about football and the French girls he had had the prior night and through the knight’s brown locks, all the Bradley could see was him.  On the barricade’s edge.  Signing autographs for fans.  His hips lopsided as he shifted all his weight onto one leg.  

Or the way he would look off at the crew when getting directions.  Listening so patiently.  The profile of his face silhouetted in the French summer sun. 

Or the way Bradley could feel everything change as soon as Colin got close.  As soon as they were breathing the same air.  His spine stiffening along with his ears as he listening for any fucking sound.  A shuffle of boots, a mumble of Irish drawl, a twisting of nervous hands on the outside of a water bottle.  Anything.  Anything that might prove that Colin was just as uncomfortable keeping this seemingly oceanic distance from each other as he was.

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