save your tears | kate

The song really could’ve made things awkward but they’d been awkward and Kate was tipsy enough now after a glass (and a half?) of wine that she was sort of determined to make this anything but that. Maybe it was weird, but she wanted to prove to herself--and to Charlie, to a lesser extent--that things didn’t always need to be that way.

That they hadn’t been, either. It grounded her to reality, made her remember all the things that hadn’t caused them to fall apart and reminded her that she hadn’t just vividly imagined everything or been stricken with a permanent case of rose-colored glasses. The base of her glass made a quiet clink on the marble when she set it down and she came over to the side of the counter he was on, perching herself on a nearby stool.

His reaction at first was comical and Kate was hard pressed not to raise her eyebrows. She grinned slowly despite herself, the amusement and little jolt of anxiety bubbling up in her stomach like an overfill of laundry soap as she considered how fast the wheels must be turning in his head. “Yeah, I’ve enjoyed that style a lot lately. Just working with lines is simple. Doesn’t feel like there’s a missing piece like it does with a painting sometimes, when I’m done.”

Ah, and he wasn’t stupid.

“Are you asking if it’s supposed to be you?” Kate’s voice softened and so did her eyes; they were drooping as she finished off her question. She wasn’t accusing him the way he was her, she was just finishing his thought that he wouldn’t--or couldn’t--say out loud. “Yeah, it is. Good eye.”

Kate slipped off her stool and came closer, and Charlie watched her, a little warily. He had been intentionally trying to keep some distance between them, subtly as he could, and it felt like she was trying to remove it at any opportunity — a quiet game of cat and mouse around her kitchen. Charlie’s fingers gripped the wine glass in his hand a little tighter, then loosened off again as she took a new seat, on his side of the counter.

She grinned at him and he averted his gaze. He was reading into every one of her words and actions and he was uncomfortable with being so acutely aware of.. well, everything. She was talking now about the process of her ‘art’—he scowled at himself for putting that in quotations in his head, prick—and that felt relatively safe, on the surface, without the context of—

Charlie flicked his attention to Kate, then almost immediately back to the picture on the wall. The picture of him, in his ex-wife’s house — proudly displayed for any visitor to see (admittedly, he didn’t expect anyone else to recognise his sketched torso — but that wasn’t the point, was it?). He inhaled, then drank deeply — unintentionally draining what was left in his glass. His ego was encouraged by that previous realisation, but the confirmation that he was the subject only served to reaffirm his concerns: she wasn’t over him.

Charlie set his empty glass down and stepped around the far end of the island, putting it between them again. He nudged the bag of Tupperware, still on the bench. “Well,” he said — and that was as far as verbalising his thoughts went for a moment. “I should probably…” He trailed off, his eyes attempting to focus on something other than Kate, or her apparent shrine to him on the wall: his gaze settled on the open bottle of wine — the one he’d offered to help her finish. He wet his lips and (stupidly) glanced up at her face again.

She’d sort of been expecting that pregnant pause, the gap of silence that between them either tended to fix things or affirm previously unsaid fears. Kate’s lips pressed together and she held her breath, considering that the next few seconds would probably decide what happened for the rest of the evening. Or what didn't. She could easily let him go, he was giving her another out--

“I--” The interruption was clumsy but it would be functional. Kate’s slender fingers drifted over the back of the stool where he’d slung his jacket, tightening around the material with a telltale squeaking noise. She sidestepped silently again to put herself directly in his path but it only took half a pace, so if he noticed it would be because he was paying close attention, too.

Kate’s head followed the direction his went in and his dark brown eyes lingered a moment on the wine bottle they were sharing, still open on the counter. “You should probably. Help me finish the wine?” She didn’t smile too big, just a little twitch of the corner of her mouth because it was from fondness and nerves she felt that anxiety bubbling up in her stomach, not because something was funny. Or normal.

He looked at her again and it wasn’t like she consciously decided in her mind to seize the opening, but something in her did. She mirrored him, eyelids drooping over half a second and that felt sleepy and languid but it wasn’t. The passage of time was deceivingly slow in such close quarters. Kate felt the metal of the stool poke her in the spine and she caved forward a small amount, effectively leaning into him with her body and away from him with her head. “Want me to… get it for you, or…”

She trailed off and her eyes dipped as she shifted her focus to his mouth.

Charlie didn’t miss Kate’s fingers gripping his jacket—rookie move on his part, not keeping it on his person—but he wasn’t about to leave it here, because that would only give them another excuse to see one another and he was still convinced that he was trying to avoid that.

She caught him staring at the bottle of wine, seized her opportunity to suggest he stay, smirked softly at him. Fuck, she was asking for it. Charlie kept his eyes on hers, watched as her line of sight dropped a little — she was staring at his mouth, he could tell. Without thinking about it too much, he returned the favour.

It was decision time— But who was he kidding? If she was going to serve it up like that—all he’d had to do was show up—he wasn’t about to say no—even if he should (probably shouldn’t have fucked her after your divorce ran through his mind again like a teleprompter). But: “I— Yeah, alright.”

Without missing a beat Kate slipped from her stool and scooped up the glass he’d abandoned in his fleeting moment of possessing morals. Charlie took a step back and rested on the counter behind him to process what he’d just agreed to, one hand gripping the edge of the benchtop and the thumb of the other hooking into his jean’s pocket. Idiot. Fucking idiot— But nobody (including Honey) had to know. And Kate had to realise by now that he wasn’t sticking around afterwards—

She was in front of him, handing him his refill. Charlie took it, keeping his eyes on Kate’s. She wasn’t sober, judging by the soft glaze in her expression. Neither was he, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure: he lifted the wine to his lips and drank it like it was water — in great gulps until the glass was empty. Kate was still standing there, close — closer than before? Not quite close enough. He stepped into her under the pretence of reaching around to put the emptied glass on the island bench behind her.

“Kate,” he mumbled; one last, last-ditch, half-attempt at doing the right thing — or giving her the opportunity to.

Like magnets, it took Kate averting her eyes and a strong pull away from Charlie to fumble around to the other side of the counter and pour his refill. Only one more glass left in there after this, and she wasn’t even sure she needed it. Her cold hand was quick to hand it over to him and she stood close again, but not quite close enough to be crowding him.

Kate’s eyes were wide instead of softly drooping like before as she gaped at him gulping the wine down. Either he wasn’t in the mood to savor it or he was feeling like he needed some liquid courage to lower inhibitions, which surprised her--after all, there was no one he was more used to than Kate, and she hadn’t known her ex to be someone to doubt his… abilities. Maybe she’d underestimated the level of nerves or sureness before, and it would be easy to establish plausible deniability if it came to that because technically he’d come to return her Tupperware. Not as if she couldn’t have afforded more.

Charlie stepped closer and she could smell him, as creepy as that sounded, it was familiar and comforting, as was his proximity to her. Kate’s chin tipped upward and she stared at him, knowing there was no way she could back out now. It was strange the way she narrated this in her head like she was being forced, like it was something she should avoid, but it was starkly reminiscent of all the other times they’d done this and the penultimate will-we-won’t-we-moment--and she was almost positive neither of them regretted anything. Not anything that had happened between them after the divorce, anyway.

One hand grabbed at his shoulder so she could steady herself and she lifted the other one up to his face, shaky fingers caressing the plane of his cheekbone while she kept their eyes locked. “What?” She asked, mostly unwilling to make the first move to be blamed for initiating later on.

Kate’s left hand was on his shoulder for a few seconds before Charlie registered it, distracted by her right; cool fingertips stroking along his cheekbone, breaking the unspoken no-contact rule he had for himself coming here. He swallowed softly, his eyes closing and his brow furrowing into a gentle frown at the familiarity of the gesture — not that it was entirely unwelcome.

Last time they’d seen one another she had kissed him just before she’d left — the key part of that sentence being that she’d left. He liked to think he could show that level of restraint, but the more pessimistic side of him knew that he was already staying — wasn’t he? Charlie placed his right hand on Kate’s waist, his first move to break the rules, and hesitated a moment longer before dipping his head to her upturned face. His lips met hers and he kissed her once, lingering, before giving in and tilting his head and parting his lips.

He encouraged Kate back against the kitchen island, pressing his body against hers as he kissed her more hungrily, the wine warm and encouraging in his veins. His free hand slipped up under her top and his fingers brushed across the skin of her stomach — and Charlie paused, forehead pressed to hers and breathing hard. He wet his lips, then (almost reluctantly) released his hold on her.

“I should go,” he murmured, echoing what she’d said to him back in his living room three months ago. His eyes met hers briefly before he glanced away, seeking out his leather jacket, still on the stool where he’d left it — not quite within arm’s reach.

Kate was holding her breath in her throat, it felt too intimate for them right now that his eyes were closed while she was touching him and hers weren’t, but if she could revel a little without him knowing, then she was going to do it. There was something screaming inside of her, at her, that knew his presence here would be fleeting, that he’d wake up in the morning (here or at home) and not have any urge to recognize the error of his ways, because as far as she could tell, this lifestyle--the one without her in it, save for very intermittently--was working for him.

She was sad that he didn’t seem to miss her, at least on the surface, but she guessed that he felt that way about her sometimes. Kate hadn’t given him a lot to work with in the way of a peephole into her brain and so she couldn’t expect him to know anything. She wasn’t showing up on his doorstep on a regular basis, wasn’t trying to convince him to take her back, and he didn’t know about the book either so he had no idea how much time she’d spent trying to get rid of those emotions.

Kate had almost referred to them as residual in her mind, but when he was standing right here in front of her, reminding her how things could be, when they were good--she knew that would have been a lie, even to say it to herself.

His hand drifted to her waist and then after a moment they were kissing, and she lost herself, if only for a minute, to bask in the warmth of that familiarity. Kate moved against the sharp, cold edge of the counter without thinking about it, responding to the way he was kissing her with equal fervor each time he went in, each time he reiterated how much he wanted to be kissing her; she made sure he knew the same.

She said nothing when he broke apart from her to say I should go, and an irritated thought popped into her head, why couldn’t you have said that five minutes ago? Had he? She’d already forgotten.

She grabbed the jacket in her fist and gripped it tight, weighing whether or not to hand it over to him, and then she shrugged into it. Instantly warmer, Kate caught a whiff of the cologne he wore as it settled on her narrow shoulders with a puff of air around her neck. “Cold.”

There was a flash of something in her usually warm eyes after he informed her of his desire to depart — but it veered more annoyed than sorrowful. Charlie’s lips pressed into a line, automatically reciprocating the negative feeling — and wasn’t he allowed to resent what she’d done? She knew his Achilles heel—his dark eyes darted to the mostly empty bottle of red on the bench beside them—and she’d wasted no time taking advantage.

Kate picked up his jacket and Charlie held his hand out to take it from her, half anticipating her launching it at him angrily— His hand was still out expectantly when she started slipping into it. He watched, dumbly, as she wrapped the buttery leather around her slight frame.

Cold, she said in explanation. Charlie blinked at her, not quite believing how childish she was being in an attempt to keep him here. But should it have surprised him, really? Her responses to arguments had never been exactly logical — he was honestly surprised she hadn’t just started stripping off, be really obvious about what she wanted. (Wouldn’t be the first time.)

He shouldn’t be here — shouldn’t be doing this. His mind was made up, even if part of him didn’t want to comply. “Kate,” he murmured, his tone not as gentle as it had been a few moments earlier — before he’d stupidly given in. “Don’t make this difficult,” he said — unsure if he was warning or pleading with her (or himself). He held his hand out again, palm up.

The light smell enveloping her was everywhere now, reminding her how things had been before when he’d offered her his jacket without contempt. There was something different about this interaction, though, and in the space of seconds Kate contemplated hard. They’d already been kissing, already been so close to sealing the deal for another time, and it was unlike him to be able to stop in the middle of something when they’d already started(and her too, for that matter).

She felt a rush of warm blood in her stomach and almost laughed at his request. Don’t make this difficult? If he could say that to her with a straight face, she was almost positive that he had no idea what her life had been like the last however many months. Her anger mounted as it became clear to her that she was out of sight, out of mind–but if he could reject her even while she was here in front of him, in the flesh, there were only two logical reasons: one, he’d changed. Not likely, as his head still seemed shoved firmly up a sunless crevice. Two, there was someone else. Judging by those stupid notes she'd seen, that was more likely.

Kate hadn’t forgotten that practically immediately after their divorce, he’d been gallivanting around with a Quidditch player he didn’t know from Adam and that seemed to have dissolved some time ago, but who was to say there wasn’t someone else slotted into that place now? God, how pathetic was it to not be able to be alone? This was a pattern.

His voice in her head rebuked her for wanting a serious relationship, that she shouldn’t expect him to be anything he wasn’t--but wasn’t wanting something real more reasonable than to expect someone to be around at your beck and call without any benefit for them? Apart from all of that, she didn’t believe he was really as horrible as he touted to other people and wished them to believe. The higher the standard, the higher the expectations, so it made plenty of sense he wanted people to think he was awful. That way any genuine show of warmth could be a pleasant surprise instead of a given. Gentleness and rottenness could coexist in one person, she was intimately familiar with this concept now. Not just because of Charlie, but because of her own self, too.

“I’m not making anything difficult.” She shrugged again to pull the jacket off. As much as she wanted him, she wanted to be treated like something disposable even less. “I won’t be around much for awhile. Better if you let me know next time you need to drop by, I don’t see why you shouldn’t call or write first.”