aphelion { killian }

She looked at him when he spoke again, checking the details of his expression, the way he look at her or didn’t, an unknown number of other nonverbal communication markers. Your history, your family. It didn’t really feel like it was hers – the history or the family. Certain elements felt very distant from her, of course but there was something different there too; she didn’t feel like it got to belong to her. It was her story and it wasn’t.

She nodded, believing that he meant what he said. But. “It’s just,” she said, believing but unable to let herself refrain from giving him an out, just in case. “If you do, could you tell me?”

The idea of other people knowing made her feel shaky and unstable — in the metaphorical, internal way, rather than the literal one — but she didn’t really feel like she could make the request outright. He didn’t owe it to her, and if she didn’t ask it explicitly then she didn’t have to feel upset if he decided to later on, if he changed his mind about all of this (If he changed his mind about her). It all felt very scattered and out of her hands, but it wasn’t as if she’d ever had much control of her life before. She had that thought explicitly – for the first time – and shrank away from it instinctively.

“I appreciate that,” Billie said, the words heartfelt and heavy with emotion as she felt a tightness in her chest again. Her breath was a misty puff that lingered by her lips. She didn’t cry, though. There didn’t seem to be any tears left.

Really, there was no way she’d let him come with her if she wanted to tell, say, Barbie. Or Rowen. Or Nola or Mavis or anyone else. But the fact that he would, and that he wanted to, was touching.

They were back at his doorstep now, and Billie turned to face him, wondering if they’d hug again. He was an affectionate person, she thought. Lots of the Gryffindor group were – it was something that she’d had to adjust to last year. Billie was too proper, or too nervous, too something to be so free with physical affection. She didn’t usually hug boys.

“Er.” She parted her lips to speak, just the filler word coming out at first. Her eyes slid from his, glancing down the street for a moment, as if she were actually waiting for the bus. She shouldnt. Billie wanted to stay, though, and right here, after all of that, when she met his eyes again, she let herself believe that he wanted her to, too.

“Just a quick one?” she offered. Offered or asked, she wasn’t sure.

All she wanted, it seemed, was to know if he told anyone. Killian nodded, grateful for the out. He could mention maybe telling his sister, his friend in America, but at a later point, maybe. If she came in for tea, maybe then, but otherwise maybe back at school. It seemed unkind to suddenly drop those names now, right when she gave him the option. At least he should pretend to think about it. Or, just, think about it a little more, anyway. That seemed reasonable.

They both pivoted to face each other, hands in pockets. It was so -- awkward. This standing. After all of the last bit, and Killian didn't know how to say goodbye. Thanks for sharing your horrific family trauma! Safe ride home! Like, what do you say, here? He couldn't think of how to end it, so instead he was facing her and trying to extend things a little longer. Er, said Billie, and Killian tried to come up with a goodbye in his head.

Just a quick one?

Killian smiled, slow, the muscles in his face taking a moment to realize Billie was agreeing to come in. His eyes brightened. "That can be done, yeah!" Killian dug his house key out of his coat pocket, fingers cold and slow, gripped it in his hand. "You remember the electric kettle. Boils fast." Killian turned and trotted up the path and steps to the door, opening it (it wasn't locked, he must have forgotten) with ease. "Come in, then."

The last of the sunlight faded as Killian closed the door behind her; in a window, a new warm lamp flickered on.

/out

Billie felt very tired, and suddenly very cold. Her inability to process her own wants and needs seemed to be working incredibly hard; her mind kept going between different things as if they were all true at once. She wanted to stay. She wanted to go. She wanted tea. She wanted to be alone.

A movie felt like too much, maybe. Or maybe it was just that he was a boy, and in other circumstances she wasn’t sure how she’d feel about going to his room and sitting on his bed, or crying in his arms, or the long, lingering hug. You spend more time with Killian — played in her head again and she felt a dash of guilt. If her bo— if Phillip, knew that she’d come here, only days later… That he was the first one she’d seen. That she’d given him so many pieces of her past… She didn’t want to think about it, but she felt uncomfortable with it laid out in her mind the way she thought that Phillip would see it.

But regardless of everything else, tea was just tea, she thought. Even at nighttime. Even after the afternoon she’d — they’d — had.

Billie watched the way his expression brightened when she agreed to stay and felt a little of the same feeling echo in her own expression. That can be done, yeah! he said, the exclamation point at the end of his sentence clear and verbal. His kettle comment actually made her smile. It was the way he said it — the answer to her reluctance to impose: an electric kettle. Very Killian. She felt something that tasted a lot like relief just then, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She wasn’t quite sure of much, right at this moment, but it occurred to her that, perhaps, she could let it be. She could take the difficult parts home; feel it all out later.

For now, though, she was sure she’d made the right decision to say yes to tea.

She stepped through the doorway. “Thank you,” she said, and she said it like she meant it.