thursday [charlie]

She said she wasn't trying to make Harlan jealous and Charlie scoffed silently. “You just wanted to hang out, did you?” he asked venomously; he wasn’t stupid--given, he’d been stupid enough to agree to it--but it was obvious now that she didn’t want to be seen with him. "So he’s stringing you along," Charlie told her; he’d used these tricks himself so he knew exactly what Harlan fucking Bellamy was up to. But apparently she wasn't shagging him, if he believed that. Maybe she wasn’t, but he’d have to be blind to not be able to see that she wished she was.

Honey stormed off and Charlie followed after her after a second or two, catching up quickly. Too quickly, when she spun to face him— He half-flinched, anticipating a smack that didn't come -- she just shoved past him instead and into the garage. Confused, he continued to follow her.

He stopped suddenly in the doorway, stunned -- that was below the belt. "That's different—" Charlie wasn’t the one who’d been cheated on, nor was he the one asking for it -- who was he to say no? How did she even know about it, anyway? And besides: "Didn't stop you from coming to Switzerland did it?"

Honey bent to pick up her bag, Charlie thought about stopping her when she came back past him--there was a small chance they could salvage things, channel this into something more productive--but she didn’t get that far, doing a little pirouette next to his bike. Charlie folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe, smirking at her. "Wanna try that again?"

How was it different? If anything, it was worse. And why should it have kept her from seeing him in Geneva? As if she could have been caught up on something he had told her months before, before Honey and Charlie had (re)started sleeping together. Really, it should have kept them from getting to that point, but she couldn’t very well tell him that it should have stopped her; that would mean she’d have to be thinking about it. “I’m not the one hung up on who’s fucking who.” She was a big enough person to let him make his own mistakes. She’d only told him to stop sleeping with his ex because he asked her for advice and it had caught her off guard.

She apparated nowhere, and she was too embarrassed to roll her eyes at his clever comment. She could manage something, though: “Fuck off.” Honey had her wand now that she had retrieved her bag but she still chose to physically shove past him after giving him all of two seconds to move out of her way. But after a second thought she relented, turning to face him one more time and hex his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth, enough to shut him up for long enough to get one last jab in as she turned back to the door. “You’re alright with Harlan fucking Kate though.”

Honey hadn’t forgotten about that article, had tried not to think about for Harlan’s sake, but what was the use in doing that anymore? She reached her realization—her romantic life was at an obvious low point and she was only partially to blame—at the same instant she reached the front door. Her shoes weren’t in their usual haphazard pile by the door and it took her a second to catch up; they were in the lounge, but if she went back for them she might as well be trading her dignity for them. Fuck, if they weren’t her favorite pair, too.

She got the door open after another couple seconds and moved quickly—she couldn’t linger, give Charlie the opportunity to say anything—onto the stoop, just far enough to actually apparate.

[[ out ]]

“I’m not hung up—” he bit back defensively, acutely aware how obviously he was.

Charlie was tempted to mimic fuck off back at her--higher-pitched Scottish accent and all--but Honey was already pacing towards him, so it didn’t seem necessary. He didn’t move out of her way, stubborn prick that he was, and she barged past, knocking him backwards where he’d been leaning off-kilter against the doorframe. He stood up straight and went to follow after her, paused when she turned back to face him and he smirked, was about to ask if she’d changed her mind already—

Shit. Honey’s wand was aimed squarely at him and Charlie flinched again when her wrist twitched, expecting something to blast him backwards down the hall… nothing happened. He looked down, checked his hands were still attached, patted himself down, then grinned and opened his mouth to tease her about her inability to jinx him (even if he knew it was more of a choice than a circumstance, unlike it might be for him were the tables turned)—

His tongue was stuck. His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing as he frowned at her. He closed his mouth instead of gaping at her like a twat. If he’d been given ten more seconds to think about it he might have started worrying about how permanent this was, if he’d have to make his way to St Mungo’s to get unstuck, but Honey wasn’t done with him.

Charlie glared, hot and angry, and strode down the hall towards her--not entirely sure what he was going to do when he got there--but she wrenched the door open after fiddling with the locks, stepped out— and disappeared.

Charlie gripped the door and slammed it shut with a loud bang!, the windows rattling. His tongue became fluid again just in time for him to shout “Fucking bitch—” at nobody.


[ end ]