When it doesn't look like she's been hurt too badly by the tumble, James turns back to his paper, a careful glance up at her now and again before he considers writing more. It's not like he wants the whole world to know what he's writing— he doesn't— but it's still something that he needs to get done. He's not sure how much he'll be able to write if he puts it off for too long, like it's one of those things that he just needs to push forward with, like it's one of those things that'll come to a stop if he doesn't push anymore. Starting's always the hard part.

"James," he replies quietly, figuring that at the very least, he can offer his name. It's just a name. "I'm James."