come thru [charlie]

Charlie frowned, bemused, when she responded; was it just him or did she seem a bit miffed for some reason? “I‘m not desperate for anything—” he started, feeling a little miffed himself now -- not that he knew exactly why. Alright, maybe he knew a little -- she’d never commented on his drinking before, and he didn’t understand why she felt the need to start now. Besides, if ever there was a pot-kettle-black moment, surely this was it?

He was still confused when Honey thanked him for not taking her home -- and for once it wasn’t the thank you itself that had him feeling out of sorts. But ah, there it was. Charlie scowled properly this time -- he was touchy about people remarking on his magical abilities at the best of times, let alone when one insecurity had already been picked at. “I wouldn’t splinch us,” he said defensively, having stopped eating by this point. Did she really think he was that useless?

If she was trying to joke about it -- any of it -- she was doing a piss-poor job. “I do it all the time and I’m fine,” he told her. Minus that one time which he knew she knew about (because he’d decided not to make up some grand tale about the scar on his thigh), and then all the other times before and since, which were easier to brush off because he hadn’t needed medical assistance (most of those were no bigger than a papercut) -- he’d either gotten better at knowing his limits, or better at apparating through them.

He wished he hadn’t put his cigarette out -- he wanted that more than he wanted his food, now. Worse still, he realised as he scowled across the table at her like an overgrown toddler, his packet was in the jacket she was wearing, so he couldn’t just pull out a new one. “Never bothered you before,” he mumbled darkly.

Her smirk didn’t have quite the effect she’d intended, but it took next to no effort to match the expression Charlie was offering her, getting disproportionately offended she’d said anything about splinching, like it wasn’t actually a big deal. (She hadn’t made it out to be such a big deal in her head until he’d gotten defensive, mind.) Honey set her cutlery down and rolled her eyes. “Am not saying you’d do it on purpose.” She didn’t think she’d been trying to start anything, really, but she didn’t find herself wanting to de-escalate the conversation, either.

He said he did it all the time and was fine; she raised her eyebrows, prompting him for more explanation, because she knew as well as he did that wasn’t true. Even Fergie had brought up Charlie’s splinching when she’d made a point about not drinking and apparating.

“I’m not—“ she stopped before she finished saying she wasn’t bothered because she was, wasn’t she? She didn’t know why; it wasn’t like she wanted to get splinched--who did--or why she was apparently so offended two months later that he’d apparated the both of them in Geneva. They were meant to be friends now and while she didn’t want any kind of special treatment, friends didn’t let friends apparate drunk, right? That was all this was. Well, that, and him jumping immediately to the defensive, and being an idiot in general.

“I’m not bothered,” she said again, leaning forward a little, careful not to get her hair in her food. What had happened to ‘too drunk to apparate’ being their excuse to stay over? It’d been a real reason; it didn’t sit comfortably that it was just words now so they didn’t have to admit to wanting to prolong their time together, however possible-- no, that could only apply to Charlie because Honey still wouldn’t drink and apparate, but that didn’t help it sit any more comfortably.

And what had he meant by before? When she was twenty-five and too stupid to know better, or stupid enough to start sleeping with him? “It’s just stupid.” The word had been playing in her mind and it sounded just as childish aloud (but he’d started it).

She wasn’t bothered -- clearly. Surely if she wasn’t bothered she wouldn’t have brought it up at all, and she had, so…

It’s just stupid. Charlie all but glared at her. “Fuck off,” he said gruffly, then glanced away, hands in his pockets. This was stupid -- arguing, having breakfast together, all of it. He’d thought Honey was too firmly in the ‘no emotions’ (hadn’t she started that?) camp to give a shit about his drinking, because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? He’d had it enough from Kate, and she’d been his actual girlfriend (and eventual wife), not just some sl—

Honey stood and Charlie looked up at her, half-expecting her to slap him (what did it say that that was half-anticipated in all of his exchanges with the fairer sex these days?). You fuck off. He frowned, opened his mouth to tell her to fuck off— but he’d already done that. She hesitated for a second--he thought-- before she turned and left him sat there with two barely-touched breakfasts and a still-warm coffee.

Charlie kept his head forward, not wanting to look inside the café and see if there had been any witnesses to enjoy the show. It was only when Honey had already turned the corner and he fruitlessly felt inside his pocket for his pack of cigarettes that he realised she was still wearing his fucking jacket. He got up and half-heartedly kicked his chair in under the table, hands still in his pockets, and stormed off after her— But she wasn’t waiting around the corner for him, and he should have known better.

He sighed to himself and finished the short walk home.


[out]

She returned his look immediately, narrowing her eyes to match his glare. She’d been expecting some sort of mature comeback, much like her original point, and she shouldn’t have been surprised to be so right. Fuck off, he said. Honey stared at him, but Charlie didn’t return the favor; she shook her head and let out a small, derisive laugh.

He looked at her only after she’d stood up, paper napkin balled up in her first. “You fuck off.” She hesitated--surely there was something else she could say--but she decided it wasn’t worth the effort (and she’d seen him open his mouth and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having the last word) so she grabbed her bag and turned to leave. She half expected him to yell something after her, but it never came; she didn’t relax her shoulders until after she’d turned a corner.

Honey ducked into the first small alleyway she saw, leaning back against the brick for a few seconds to breathe normally again. She still had her napkin in her hand and she shoved it in her pocket, realizing she was still wearing Charlie’s jacket when her hand hit his pack of cigarettes, the pack she’d enjoyed him stowing away there no more than ten minutes ago.

She didn’t give herself much time to consider her options--ditch the jacket, go back and give it to him, keep it--because there was no one around to see her apparate; she took her chance to pop on home, leaving it to figure out later.

[[ thread ]]