is this what you wanted [charlie]

saturday, 19 june 2004

Honey had half a mind to take the cake—the already half-eaten birthday cake—with them. Even with all the preparations she had been doing to get the trolley ready for the Hogwarts Express that morning, Honey had made Fergie a carrot cake— and then he had been nice enough to avoid them all night. She had seen a couple glances from him in their direction, but she didn’t think they were good glances, the sort where he was checking in and sending silent thanks for being there and baking a cake and still buying him a gift despite how dumb he was acting; they were more the ‘checking that Honey and Charlie aren’t snogging’ sort of look.

(And the rest of the day had been sort of shit, too; the Griffins had won the BIL final earlier (Honey hadn’t attended but she hadn’t wanted to anyway because Portree hadn’t even made the playoffs) and the shop had been slow and Fergie had sent Edith up to get the cake, rather than asking Honey to bring it by the party early, like would normally happen.)

She didn’t think she would have gone to the party at all if it wasn’t her brother’s birthday. She certainly wouldn’t have stayed so long; Honey felt more like she was there as Charlie’s plus one rather than an actual invite, but that was because that—being there with Charlie—was a thing. They had made it obvious enough, anyway, keeping near constant physical contact because they were keeping things private, not secret. (And Honey might have been overdoing it out of spite for Fergie and out of concern for Gobstones trying to talk to her because he had certainly looked at her enough times to warrant it).

And there was, at least, gin—so Honey was drunk—and she had made a promise to not get up to anything in the bathroom (again)—so Honey was drunk and she got to leave early with her boyfriend. (She had said it out loud exactly once and the world hadn’t ended but she had yet to say it again.)

Honey got up from where she had been sitting on the low garden wall when Charlie came out of the flat— he had more people to say goodbye to (and hopefully Fergie wasn’t one of them) after she had suggested they leave. She smoothed down her dress with one hand and reached for him with the other, hooking a finger into the waistband of his jeans and pulling him closer. She stretched up and kissed him, leaning into it, taking advantage of finally being alone (because the stranger passing them on the sidewalk didn’t count). “Chips?” She asked with a smirk, remembering (not for the first time) how they had left Fergie’s party last year together, too.

Charlie clapped Sam on the shoulder with a final grin and slipped back into the hallway. He successfully skirted Sam’s cousin (busy talking to that kid who’d been obsessed with gobstones in school) and wondered if Fergie might as well have just hosted a Hogwarts reunion party instead (the man had invited his high school girlfriend, for Christ’s sake). Cordelia Leighton had been there too, but he suspected being practically attached at the hip to Honey had done something to deter the reporter.

He couldn’t see Ferg right now to say goodbye to the birthday boy, but he figured it probably wasn’t worth it anyway. Surely the other man would come around eventually — if he and Honey lasted that long.

Charlie opened the front door, letting the noise from inside spill out with him into the street, and the door slammed behind him (accidentally). He flashed Honey a grin as she stood, his left hand automatically reached out to meet her right as they came together, their fingers interlinking. She pulled him closer by the waistband of his jeans and he smirked into the kiss, allowing himself to get a little carried away now that they weren’t under any obligation to behave.

Honey pulled back and Charlie smiled down at her, rolling his eyes. “Ah, so you wanted to leave for chips,” he drawled (the not for me was implied). He nodded after a pause, then started walking down the street in the vague direction of home, via chips, his hand still clasping hers. “McDonalds or chippy?”

“Chips,” she said simply, agreeing with him, smirking because she knew what he was getting at. He wasn’t wrong about that, she supposed--she pulled his hips to hers with the finger still tucked into his waistband--but now that she was talking about chips, the more she really did want something to soak up the alcohol. Honey returned Charlie’s nod, her smirk softening as they wandered down the street hand in hand. She considered her options for a few seconds before she made a decision: “Chippy.” It was closer, so they’d get home sooner.

Honey waited until they were at the end of the block--she bumped Charlie’s shoulder with her own as they turned toward the chippy--before she blew air out through pursed lips. “So, Ferg seems totally fine with this.” She lifted the hand that was interlocked with his, giving it a squeeze as if it wasn’t already obvious what she was talking about. Them. This.

She thought she felt a little bad about it. Fergie was Charlie’s friend first-- both she and Fergie had pointed that out before for different reasons, Honey mostly when Fergie was trying to blame Honey for things that involved Charlie. Fergie would get over it eventually--at least halfway--because Honey was his sister and she knew he couldn’t stay mad at her for too long, but the other half--the Fergie-getting-over-it-being-Charlie half of it--felt like it might take a bit longer. Talking about it now would make it weirder, though, and Honey wasn’t about to give Charlie the chance to take the out if he thought it might help the friendship.

“What a prick,” she said as she rolled her eyes. She couldn’t fault him being mad--actually she could, and she did, but she at least understood why he was--but he should have just told her not to come to the party. (She hadn’t given him much of a chance to say no, springing this on him only a few days ago, but she wasn’t about to give him the benefit of the doubt, either. “Silent treatment’s very mature.” As if she hadn’t done the same exact thing to him on multiple occasions before.

There was the temptation to forgo the chips entirely, what with her pulling him closer like that, but it wasn’t as if it was chips or going home.

Honey settled on chippy and Charlie smiled softly. “Mm, could murder a battered sausage.” Not a euphemism, though as soon as he’d said it he was sure Honey would pick up on it as one — he glanced sidelong at her and rolled his eyes, grinning. “Filth.” He was hungry, now that Honey had mentioned food; Fergie’s party platters hadn’t gone far, and the mini sausage rolls had all been claimed before Charlie had detached himself from Honey long enough to try and get some.

They turned the corner and Honey lifted Charlie’s hand in hers, tightening her grip to emphasise her point: them. Charlie grinned hesitantly, then lopsidedly when he realised she wasn’t letting go— then shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, unsure how to tread the line between his girlfriend and one of his oldest friends — he’d made mistakes on that front before, though at least they hadn’t been related so things had been a little easier to navigate. Sort of.

What a prick, she said, and it took Charlie a second to be sure she meant Fergie, not him. “Could be worse,” Charlie pointed out helpfully, though he wasn’t really sure how it could be worse — it just seemed like the right (safe) thing to say. He wet his lips and squeezed her hand in his, a silent thanks for taking his side, or defending him, or whatever she was doing. “He’ll get over it,” Charlie told her, though he wasn’t confident about it. He wasn’t entirely confident about any of it. “Didn’t punch me this time,” he pointed out with a smirk.

Honey smirked at Charlie’s battered sausage comment, laughed when he (correctly assumed and) chided her for where her thoughts had immediately veered off to.

Yeah, he said, which was as helpful as ever. She knew there wasn’t much to add--Fergie was being a prick, plain and simple--but she would have appreciated a wee bit more effort to disparage her brother when given the chance. She sighed as Charlie added that it could be worse; Honey looked at him, wondering how. Fergie had been on her case for years to get over herself and settle down--not that she was settling now--but apparently he had much higher standards for her boyfriends than she did. And now that Fergie was all serious--too serious, too fast--Honey was sure it wasn’t about to get any easier for her, the older sibling, at family holidays, the like.

But Charlie squeezed her hand and she returned the gesture, blinking a couple times to bring her mind back to the present. Fergie would get over it. Hopefully. Honey sighed again, more annoyed than anything else. He hadn’t punched Charlie, at least-- “Aye.” There was still time for that, she figured. “Asked him not to.” That wasn’t technically true, but Charlie didn’t need the details; Honey had only asked him to wait until Charlie deserved it, next time. (Of course, she was hoping there wouldn’t be a next time, but that was another pointless detail.)

The chippy was open and not busy; it must have been earlier in the night than Honey had realized. She ordered her chips and cheese and stepped off to the side to pay (for Charlie’s too) and wait. “Edith asked if she could have a go.” Honey made a fist and moved it toward her cheek--stopping short of actually hitting herself in the face--so he knew she was back to talking about him getting punched.

Honey returned the finger-squeeze and Charlie smiled, mostly to himself. It faded a second later when she sighed, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing, but— He blinked and turned his head sharply to look at her. “Was he going to?” was his first question (what did the Scotsman take issue with this time?), followed closely by: “Did you?” and a smirk. That was something, at least — her asking him not to. But he didn’t exactly want Honey thinking he needed her to protect him.

Charlie wet his lips. “Next time he clocks me I’m clocking him back,” he said, casually, just in case she had any doubts about his ability to stand up for himself. “Only didn’t last time because—” he stopped and glanced sidelong at her, squeezing her hand again. Because he thought brawling with her brother wouldn’t exactly have gone down well with their arrangement (and maybe a little bit because he wasn’t sure who would’ve come out on top — Fergie had had all his brotherly emotions on his side, other than that Charlie—perhaps delusionally—thought they would be pretty evenly matched).

Honey let go to step into the chippy before him. Charlie followed her in, quickly scanning the glass-fronted cabinets and then the menu overhead. He ordered chips with curry sauce and the aforementioned battered sausage, then stepped back and out of the way, resting his back against the shop window whilst Honey paid for them both.

His eyebrows rose before he laughed. “Did she?” He sighed out of his nose, amused. “You ask her not to and all?” he smirked, placing his hand on Honey’s hip and snaking it around her back(side) to pull her close. “Was this while you were all talking about me in Majorca?” he asked, his voice lower. “Surely your mum’s next in line after Ferg.”