slow hands. [tag; eamon]

can't you see what you've done to my heart and soul?
it's just a wasteland now.

Friday night.

Standing in front of the mirror in her small bathroom, a tall red headed girl carefully brushed her hair. She had plans tonight. She was going out with some friends to one of the local bars in the wizarding area of London that had just opened up. Getting out would be good, she could use a distraction. Poppy was effectively single now but she wasn't sure about moving on. "Moving on" was such a ridiculous phrase. It was nearly as bad as "closure". Why was everything getting so horribly Americanised lately?

She'd ended her relationship with Eamon. They'd been fighting and fighting and fighting, all day, every day. Maybe he was her fault. Just maybe but he knew how she felt about Jane. Jane Lennon was poison. An absolutely abhorrent young "lady". She used that word loosely. The Auror was a man in drag with bad hair, an awful ratty leather jacket and torn jeans and a perpetual cloud of smoke. How she slept with so many boys, she'd never know.

Jane and Eamon had kissed and she'd only just found out about it. Apparently it happened months ago. A kiss wasn't really such a big deal but the fact that it was her made her so so mad. But he'd lied to her. He insisted it was before they started dating but it wasn't. Poppy was no fool, she knew the dates. If they'd kissed, what else had they done? Had they slept together? The thought of her ex-boyfriend and her mortal enemy together turned her stomach.

Shaking her herself, she dragged her brush back through her hair before applying a slick of deed red lipstick to her plump lips. Maybe she wasn't ready for a new relationship but she could flirt a little. She was a free agent now after all. Eamon had made no effort to try and repair this failed relationship. Honestly? She'd sort of expected him to knock at her apartment with his tail between his legs with a bunch of flowers. But no. Nothing.

Leaving her bathroom, her heels echoed through out her dinky little London apartment, disturbing the sleeping Alsatian puppy curled up on her sofa. Poppy frowned. Disraeli, the dog, had been a gift from Eamon. She didn't like the boy but she loved the dog, regardless of who had given it to her.

It was a little after ten o'clock in the evening and the capital was just starting to come to life. The sun had recently set and night was creeping in, the sky fading from a watercolour pink to a deep and dusky inky blue. Poppy took a breath. She was ready to mingle. Or, at the very least, have a few drinks bought for her and have a quick fumble in the bathroom at the club. A knock at the door caught her attention and she made a grab for her bag, jogging over through her living room.

"I thought we were meeting at the -- " Opening the door, she stopped. Poppy's grin faltered and then faded as she saw who was standing there. It wasn't Paul, one of her friends from work. She swallowed and opened the door a little further, her bright green eyes looking over his figure. She hadn't seen him in nearly two months and there he was, turning up out of the blue, just as soon as she was ready to go out. That much was clear, she was dressed to the nines after all.

The botanist frowned swiftly, starting directly at the handsome face that she knew so well and she swallowed. "What are you doing here?" the red head asked softly but firmly.

Poppy stared at him. Really stared and took the time to survey him carefully. This wasn't the Eamon she once knew. This young man was different. Honestly? Honestly, he was a stranger now. He'd changed so much over the last two months. The redhead had heard things through the grapevine. Rumours that he'd been sleeping around and he was entitled to after all. She'd ended their relationship, he was no longer tied to her and she had no right to feel hurt and slighted about his reckless behaviour. Eamon was entitled to bury his appendage into whoever he wanted to. She refused to comment.

Unlike him, Poppy hadn't gone near another man but she wasn't about to judge him for his choices. She sighed softly as her full scarlet lips down turned into a frown as she looked at him again. She made the choice and she was sticking by it. She ended things because she didn't trust him. She hadn't stopped caring about him.

She didn't hate him but she was damn sure she hated Jane Lennon. She wasn't naïve enough to think that Jane hadn't dragged her name through the mud. That girl was vile. Absolutely abhorrent. From her filthy habit of smoking to her battered Converse to her raggedy old leather jacket. Honestly. She was not a lady and she did not conduct herself as one. She was rude, impolite, used a rather limited vocabulary and her fists far too much. She and Poppy were never going to be best friends and she had tried to be civil but the Auror just pushed her buttons.

A pervert. She was being harassed by a pervert. Poppy blinked her big green eyes as she arched one slender eyebrow. Did Eamon hear the words that were coming out of his mouth? Did her expect her to believe that was the reason they'd kissed? She knew their relationship hadn't been totally platonic. She knew that once upon a time, they'd liked each other as more than just friends. That hadn't really bothered her too much and she wasn't really sure why it had now. Jane was more ladette than lady. She didn't hold a candle to her.

She nodded gently, copper coloured curls spilling over her slender shoulders in the process. At least he'd apologised, even if it had taken far too long. Her gaze dropped to the flowers in his hand. Poppies. Sweet. She'd never had the heart to tell him that she hated her namesake flowers. They were blood red and reminded her of funerals. They smelt strange, looked strange, felt strange and they were often crawling with little black bugs. She just didn't like them very much but he seemed to like bringing her them and so, she'd never told him. Had he just…pulled them out of someone's garden?

I love you Poppy.

That comment jarred her out of her little daydream. She flinched as though slapped. Her heart dropped to rest somewhere that felt like her stomach. No. He didn't love her. If he did love her, he wouldn't have let her go. He wouldn't have slept with countless other girl. She swallowed as she frowned at him, her big eyes looking him over closely. How long had she wished he'd say that to her? Six months? A year? Longer? It didn't matter. He didn't even mean it. He was paying her lip service.

She sighed heavily. "You're drunk, Eamon," she said softly, dropping her eyes to her shoes as she opened her front door fully. "Come inside. I'll get you some coffee," she whispered, placing her hand on his forearm as she stepped back to let him into her flat. Closing the door behind her, she shook her head as she shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto the sofa, her heels clacking as she headed straight to the kitchen to boil the kettle.

"No you're perfectly sober," Poppy said flatly. There was no hint of a smile or any sort of humour in her voice, clearly because there wasn't anything to laugh about. As he grinned at her, her plump scarlet lips down turned to form a frown. She'd always found Eamon's smile utterly disarming. Once upon a time, he could flash her that grin and she'd melt but now? Now it just made her feel a bit queasy. How many girls had he smiled at in that way? Ten? Fifteen? More?

The tall redhead stood still as he milled about her apartment, filling a vase and arranging her flowers. She didn't know if she should feel happy that he knew her apartment so well or angry that he was wandering around like he owned the place. She swallowed quickly and looked away. She didn't like poppies. She also didn't like roses but now wasn't the right time to tell him. The fact that he'd even taken the time to buy her flowers was sweet but her brain was working overtime now. It was ticking away, the cogs were turning. What if everything he'd bought her flowers "just because" was actually because he was saying sorry for shagging someone else?

She turned quickly as her pale hand busied themselves by making up a cup of coffee. She added three heaped spoonfuls to a mug and filled it to the top with the water, stirring quickly. She didn't add milk or sugar, this wasn't a friendly cuppa. It was strong and bitter and enough to make him sober up so she could kick him out, lock the door and cry.

"Oh I know exactly what happened," Poppy snarled. So much for keeping things polite. She spun back around,  her long copper coloured curls bouncing as she strode with purpose towards him, her bright green eyes narrowed. "And I do not want to hear the gory details," she hissed before shoving the steaming up of coffee towards him, not caring it he was burnt by any of the coffee that had slopped over the side of the cup.

"You can't just show up here after three months of no contact whatsoever, buy me flowers and expect that everything is going to be alright," the florist said through gritted teeth, barely keeping herself focused. She took a quick breath, her left hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose hard to try and stop the impending headache. As Eamon blabbered on, Poppy simply stared. Did he have any idea what he was saying? Honestly? Could he hear what he was saying? If he was trying to get her back, he was really ballsing this entire thing up.

"You pretended to be her boyfriend," the redhead stated, her slender eyebrows arched. "When you were dating me. You kissed her, when you were dating me," she said slowly and clearly, making sure he could hear and understand everything she was saying in his booze fogged state. "And kissing her was the only plausible option for making this man leave her alone?" Poppy asked, her voice completely devoid of emotion as she simply stared at him. "Because if that's the case, you're even stupider than my Dad said you were."

As her arm was grabbed, she found herself taking a quick and involuntary step towards him as she was pulled. Love. El-oh-vee-ee. "You keep saying that," she replied, her eyes dropping to her high heeled feet. "And I really wish you wouldn't," she whispered. Tonight was starting out so well, too. She was in a good mood, she was all dressed up, she had good friends and she was about to go out and paint the town red and now? Well now, she just wanted to die a little bit.

Gently, she worked on prising his fingers off her arm slowly before taking a few steps back and away from him with a shake of her head. Too much. This was all too much. She was mad at Eamon. So damn mad at his inability to behave himself in an adult relationship. He hadn't stayed and tried to fix this. Nope. He didn't understand why Poppy was so upset. He continually laughed and pooh-poohed her concerns, stating that he and Jane were "just friends." Jane Lennon was a home wrecker. She bulldozed everything she ever touched. She'd crushed Logan, she slept around and she was going to break poor Padraig's heart. Poppy had no idea what this girl's problem was. The only friend she had was her packet of cigarettes.

Poppy sighed heavily as she frowned at Eamon. "I'm not going to ask you choose," she said softly as her dog, Disraeli, work up and jumped off her sofa and curled protectively around her long legs. The German Shepherd had grown considerably since Eamon bought him for her and now, Disraeli growled at him, staying close to Poppy and barking loudly, his ears back. "Because you've made your choice. Just go home, Eamon. Please."