all the glamour and the trauma • • l o u i s

Gabrielle Delacour had never liked her birthday.

Her maternal grandmother had died on the fifteenth of December a few years ago. Last year she'd found out that her mother was cheating on her father. Then that terrible thing with Klaus had happened. Asshole, she thought darkly. Despite not talking to the Ombrelune for an entire year, a part of him still lingered in her head. Especially in moments like this, when she felt disassociated and disconnected. Not to mention, drunk. Gabrielle sighed. Her birthday party was going well, actually, as far as birthday parties went. Her parents had left her alone again, so she'd thrown a party in rebellion and invited everyone from school. Naturally that meant people like Max and Adrien were here, whereas people like Klaus weren't. The music downstairs played loudly and she'd locked away all of the delicate crystal glasses and made accessible many paper cups for people to drink their cheap wine and spirits from.

But Gabrielle didn't like birthdays. At some point tonight, after a few drinks and long stretches of time drifting between people serenely, social smile firmly in place, chatting and appealing, the girl had started feeling a little dysphoric. It was too loud, too packed. The part-veela had come upstairs to check her makeup in her ensuite mirror; the downstairs bathroom was almost certainly in use. She'd meant to go straight back down, smile back in place, but had only made it back to the top of the staircase leading down. The noise from downstairs drifted up to her, but at the top step no one could see her. She'd made sure the main body of guests was kept away from upstairs. She sat with a half-full wine glass held loftily to one side, her ankles crossed demurely on the next step down. Her eyes were a little glassy, a little unfocused.

Her posture was perfect, as usual. In fact, sitting so still like this she almost looked like a pretty statue rather than a person. She'd made sure to look especially beautiful and ethereal tonight; her hair flowed in soft, shimmery waves down to the small of her back and the dress she'd chosen was, on her, quite striking and extremely flattering. It showed off her slender neck and collarbones, the gentle slope of her shoulders. She usually didn't wear much makeup, but she'd worn a little more today just for effect. A part of her had wanted to look otherworldly and, simply, above everyone else here and she thought she'd achieved it. Gabrielle sighed to herself again, trying to shake the sudden distance she felt between her and other party goers. The sudden onset of melancholy. She told herself she was just building up to making it back down.

This was the third time this evening Louis had been to the bathroom. He'd broken the seal too early, and so now the more he drank, the more often he felt the need to empty his bladder. The fifteen-year-old was not a seasoned drinker -- far from it. Louis drank wine with meals, like most young persons on the continent, but he didn't drink to get drunk very often. Frankly, he hadn't intended to get drunk tonight either. A little tipsy maybe, but not drunk. He didn't want to make a fool out of himself. The goal was the opposite, really. He wanted to impress. Or, you know, at least maintain the status quo.

The bellefeuille finished washing his hands, dried them on a towel, then took a look at himself in the mirror. He had to squint a tiny bit to focus. He didn't think he was drunk, but he was definitely tipsy. The brunette was wearing a navy blue shirt and some light chinos -- Gabby hadn't exactly given a dress code. Louis knew, from experience, that she wouldn't be dressed casually: it was her birthday. He'd debated over long sleeves or short (he'd gone with the latter), trousers or jeans (the former), and dress shoes or something more casual (the latter). And girls said boys had it easy -- they most certainly did not. The minute he'd seen Gabrielle in what he could only describe as her 'birthday dress', he felt he'd missed the mark. But then, the papillonlisse always looked better than everyone else, so maybe it wasn't all down to poor choices on his part.

Louis ran his hand through his hair quickly, pushing a stray curl out of his face and back where it belonged, then turned to exit the bathroom. He stepped out onto the landing and froze, spotting a familiar figure sat on the top step -- he'd recognise the back of that head anywhere. Almost comically, Louis looked around, as if expecting someone else to be here, but there wasn't: she was alone. Well, he was there too, he supposed. Quietly, he approached her under the pretence of heading back downstairs. Who was he kidding? He didn't want to go back down there if she was up here. "Hey," he announced himself, not wanting to surprise her, "Sorry, there was someone in the downstairs one." He offered, by way of an explanation for being up here. He didn't want her to think he was snooping or following her around.

Louis sat down beside Gabrielle, making sure to leave a polite amount of space between them despite wanting not to. He took a moment to just look at her, silently admiring how beautiful she looked tonight. The bellefeuille thought she always looked good, but something was different tonight -- and it wasn't just the dress. "So, how's your birthday been so far?" he asked with a small smile, vaguely aware that she was voluntarily sitting alone rather than partying with her friends.

The blonde felt his eyes on her and kept her own grey ones firmly ahead. She was used to being looked at; both by people in general and by him. She wondered if she felt good enough to simply enjoy the attention or if tonight it would just make her feel more distant and less associated with her body. In this particular interaction, it was difficult to tell. For a moment, Gabrielle mulled over something someone had said to her a year ago, about the things she could make people do. Men, specifically. She wondered if she could make Louis do all kinds of things for her. She tried to push these thoughts from her mind.

"Oh," Gabrielle said, a polite smile appearing a moment later than it should have. Oh, Louis, she wanted to say, how long until we can send them all home?. The words were ready to slip from her lips. She could feel her intoxication urging her to speak them, but had the sense to keep her mouth shut. "Not too bad," she compromised, giving him a look before looking ahead again. Music and chatter drifted up to her ears, but she felt so far away from that world. To stop herself from zoning out, she took another drink of her wine, sipping the drink neatly before holding it to one side with long fingers wrapped around its stem. There was no drinking from plastic cups for Gabrielle Delacour.

"It's been nice to have everyone here," she said softly, "but I suppose it's been a bit... you know. Busy. It's pretty loud down there and I've had a few of these already." Gabrielle held the glass up as an example of what she was talking about.

Louis searched Gabrielle’s face, trying to pick up any little hint as to what she might be thinking. Sometimes he wished he could read other people’s minds, thinking it would make life easier, but then when he thought about all the things that crossed through his he thought better of it. He didn’t really want to know everything Gabby thought – just what she thought about him.

When she finally turned to smile at him he could tell it was forced. There was something wrong, but he couldn’t tell if it was him or something else. He wanted to help her, but he didn’t know how. “Not too bad?” He repeated dully, watching her full lips touch on the wine glass as she took a sip and thinking how much he would like to be that glass right now.

Louis listened, forcing himself to look away so that he wasn’t staring at her. His sat up a little straighter, his hands resting on his thighs for want of anywhere else to put them. He glanced over at Gabrielle out of the corner of his eye, frowning a little as he mulled over what he should say. “Well, if you want people to leave, I could—or we could just stay up here. Everyone else seems pretty preoccupied.” He chewed on his lip as he paused for a brief moment, “Or if you want to be alone I can... go back downstairs.” He really didn’t want to. He wanted Gabrielle to tell him to stay. To tell him to send everyone else home and let it just be them, but then he wouldn’t know what to do even if she did.

Louis wasn't the little boy he'd been six months ago, she thought, still watching her glass rather than look at him. She'd noticed after summer that he'd grown taller; he definitely hadn't been taller than her last year. There was only an inch or so between them, but the difference between looking down on someone and looking up at them had some kind of impact on Gabrielle. She'd never dated a boy shorter than her. She doubted she ever would.

Gabrielle didn't have to look at him to sense the reluctance he felt when he offered to return downstairs. It wasn't exactly surprising, but it was still somewhat satisfying. The blonde tipped her glass to her lips again, finishing the drink with a final sip before placing the glass on the stair beside her. "No, no," the blonde said reassuringly, trying to dismiss his worries, "it's okay. I don't want you to go." She was aware she could have worded that in a number of different ways, but it would have been a lie to say she didn't enjoy the way wording it like that affected him.

"I'm just..." Gabrielle turned to him properly, leaning back on one palm and gracing him with the full power of her gaze, "Just taking a moment to collect myself." She smiled at the silliness of it; perhaps she shouldn't have just drank another entire glass of champagne if she really wanted to come up here to simply "collect herself". Despite her coolness, Gabrielle could definitely feel the effects of the bubbly liquid she'd been drinking tonight. Her eyes were just a smidge unfocused, her thoughts a little tangential and a touch harder to keep in line.

"How have you been though?" She asked, pale grey eyes searching his brown ones. She was pleased to look for a distraction there. "I feel like we haven't talked forever. Any big plans for when we go back to school? Any girls you have your eye on?"

Louis was mildly surprised by Gabrielle’s response; he had to consciously force himself not to smile, to keep looking straight ahead, but he couldn’t stop the tops of his ears flushing pink. She didn’t want him to leave, which meant she wanted him to stay. He knew they were friends, so he shouldn’t really read more into it than that, but he wanted to. He wanted Gabby to turn to him and confess that she felt the same way he did, and that it wasn’t just her genetic makeup that drew him to her.

He turned to look at her as she continued and his mind went momentarily clear of any thought other than how much he wanted to kiss her; his eyes fixing on her soft lips. He vaguely remembered how it had felt to kiss them, though it had been chaste and brief. The Bellefeuille blinked and gave his head the tiniest of shakes, before nodding in agreement. Collecting himself seemed like a good idea.

“Me?” He asked before swallowing. Louis reluctantly tore his eyes away from Gabrielle again, reminding himself that it was impolite, and a little creepy, to just constantly stare at her – no matter how much he wanted to. He cast his warm brown eyes around the landing, taking in this little snippet into Gabrielle’s life and committing it to his memory. “I’m. Yeah, good.” He said automatically, then took a moment to think that over – but he supposed he was good. He had nothing to complain about really. He was Quidditch Co-Captain, his grades were stable… the only thing he was missing from his ideal was –

“Uhh,” his mouth hung open for half a moment before he closed it, his eyes back on hers. “Not. Not really. Quidditch, I guess. We got smoked in those last two matches so…” He drifted off, unsure how to respond to her second question. The French boy lifted his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, conveniently blocking his face from her view for a second with his arm as he scrambled to decide how to answer.

Louis was a terrible liar, so it was usually best if he just omitted the finer details when drawn on something he didn’t really want to talk about. “Um, one, I guess.” He said finally, focusing intently on the action of picking at a bit of fluff on his trousers. He cleared his throat, “What—what about you?” The brunette lifted his gaze once more, looking her in the eye and trying to project some sort of emotion that wasn’t trepidation: perhaps confidence, or disinterest, maybe? Gabby always seemed to go for the kind of boys that weren’t absolutely gaga over her, so maybe he would have to try and be more like that. Less attainable? Was that what it was? The wine he’d had tonight was giving him a little more self-assurance, as evidenced by not completely stumbling over his words around her, but he didn’t know he’d ever be blasé around Gabrielle Delacour.

"Ooh," she teased, leaning to bump him gently with her shoulder, a cheeky smile brightening her expression. When he asked her if she was interested in anyone, Gabrielle looked away from him, still smiling mysteriously. "I don't know," she said. It had been five months since she'd broken up with Max, a month less than that since she'd last kissed him and even less than that since he'd sent her flowers. There were a couple of other guys she was talking to, but there wasn't anything much happening there for now. It was just talk. The girl absentmindedly reached for her glass before realising that it was empty. She scooped up the champagne flute anyway.

"Lets get another drink," she told him, holding her glass up to punctuate the point. The girl's pale grey eyes followed the angle of the staircase down, but then she looked over her shoulder at the quiet upstairs area instead. Elegantly, Gabrielle got to her feet. "Did you know that my father owns a cider company?" she asked curiously. The girl stepped up onto the landing, pausing for him to follow before she started walking. "He has a whole stash of expensive alcohol in his office." Her father had it on display. Wines and beers and ciders. Whiskeys, muggle and magical in nature. Her father was a collector, too, so she'd seen all kinds of things in there that were no longer legal to produce - alcohol made with dragon's blood, for example. Weird and wonderful.

The pair turned down a hall and Gabrielle opened the first door on their left. Like the rest of the house, the room had a big feel about it. The ceiling was high and one wall had a huge window overlooking a garden outside. The thing that immediately commanded attention, however, was the wall to their immediate right sporting a gigantic floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined with evenly-spaced bottles. They looked like potions, she thought. Some of the bottles were shaped strangely, some sparkled a little and some emitted little wisps of cold air indicating they were magically refrigerated. The veela girl let her friend step inside before closing the door behind them and walking over to the shelves. Some of the bottles had metal nametags in front of them indicating their contents. "Some of these are hundreds of years old," she commented. After a pause, she added, "he wont notice." It was a complete lie, really. But she didn't care.

Louis knew he shouldn’t invest in Gabrielle. She was unattainable. She’d made as much clear before now. But still, he couldn’t help but hope. He tried not to make it obvious as he looked at her, trying to figure out what that smile meant, trying not to look disappointed when she didn’t answer him with the same candour.

The Bellefeuille couldn’t hide the frown that flitted across his features as she seemingly called an end to their one-on-one. He swallowed and stood after her, placing one hand on the bannister ready to descend back into the party, when she failed to make the same movement. Louis turned to look at her, noting how he looked down on her now, just slightly. “Um, no. I don’t know, maybe?” He replied, already flustered at being asked if he knew about her family. He knew less than he’d like to – about her. As slow as he was sometimes, Louis picked up the hint quickly this time. He took the final step onto the landing, following her – not too eagerly.

As they entered her father’s office, Louis tore his gaze away from Gabby to look around the room; his eyes bulged. “Wow.” He breathed. It amazed him that someone would have something like this in their house. His family wasn’t poor, but this just screamed opulence – restrained, maybe. Private, but opulent nonetheless. Louis belatedly noticed that Gabrielle had closed the door behind them – his heart started beating faster in his chest. They were alone. More alone than they’d been on the stairs.

“Are you sure?” He asked quietly, coming up beside her and staring up at the wall in front of them. His eyes roamed over the different shapes and colours, glancing at the tags. He’d never even heard of some of these things before. Louis turned his head to look at Gabby again, easily finding her more entrancing than any of the mysterious bottles before them. “What one do you want?” he murmured, admiring the way some of the contents of the bottles were refracting colours across the blonde’s pale skin.

His wow made her smile. "It's excessive, isn't it?" Gabrielle didn't think she needed to do much to impress him; she'd caught the lingering looks; the expressions she could draw from him by returning them. It amused her that she'd once thought he was gay; it was so obvious now, with how he responded to her, that he was not.

Was she sure? Well, no, actually. In fact, she was almost certain that he'd notice. The question here was whether or not he'd even bring it up with her. "He might," she conceded, glancing at her companion with one slender brow arched. "But it's fine. Daddy wont punish me." The way she said that word had a bit of a bite to it. She'd started calling her parents by their names recently because she knew they hated it, but they didn't say anything. She knew that they felt guilty because of the way their relationship had affected her in the past year or so. Gabrielle took full advantage of it, pushing limits; holding parties she wasn't allowed to hold; going out at night; raiding daddy's liquor cabinet. What were they going to do about it anyway? The blonde looked back at the shelves in front of her, the topic closed for discussion.

Was he always so indecisive? Gabrielle brushed the thought aside, reaching for a tall, clear bottle mysteriously labelled Dreams. It had its own metal plaque with a date and ingredients list, but she ignored it. The blonde caught her own reflection in the glass, and was surprised for a moment as she remembered the effort she'd put into her appearance tonight. She had wanted to look extremely ethereal. She'd wanted to look better than anyone else at the party, like she didn't even belong here. Like they weren't worthy. No wonder Louis seemed so unsure of himself, her efforts had certainly paid off. She glanced up at him again, offering him a sly smile as she held the bottle up, as if including him on some in-joke. The girl's gaze was still a little distant - a remnant from the wine she'd had already - but her pale grey eyes were firmly fixed on him.

She unscrewed the cap, noting the sound of the seal breaking - a point of no return, really - before breaking eye contact and tilting her chin up slightly to take a long sip. When she finished, she held the bottle to him, her eyebrows raised slightly. Gabrielle took a deep lungful of air, then exhaled, her breath sweet-smelling. She didn't describe the sudden lightness in her chest, or the shimmer she felt on her skin as a result of the drink to him; the blonde figured he'd know soon enough. "So," she said, leaning against the wall, her hands behind her back as she waited for him patiently. "This crush of yours, is she clever? Pretty?" Gabrielle looked over at him curiously, trying to find the balance between trying to dazzle him make him choke on his drink and trying not to be too obvious about it. It was slightly more difficult when she was tipsy.

“Um. Kinda.” Louis replied, still looking up at the wall in front of them, dazzled, with his mouth hanging slightly ajar.

The Bellefeuille swallowed softly at Gabrielle’s admission. He wasn’t the type to break rules – though admittedly, he wasn’t aware that there was any specific ‘rule’ preventing him from drinking alcohol. His parents had never needed to give Louis the sitdown about drugs and booze. He was too honest, too well behaved – or always had been.  He wasn’t rebellious or a risktaker. Until tonight, maybe. He wasn’t willing to say ‘no’ to her. He didn’t think he could even if he had wanted to.

Louis watched Gabrielle as she plucked a bottle from the shelf; his dark eyes flicked back and forth between the vessel and its bearer a few times before returning her smile. “What is it?” He asked, moving closer to read the label. His brow furrowed lightly. It wasn’t very descriptive. Before he had a chance to say anything else (such as “are you sure we should be doing this?”), Gabrielle had opened the bottle and lifted it to her lips. Entranced, Louis watched her with slightly wide eyes.

He took the bottle from her with a little hesitation. What was in this? Was it safe? What would it do to them? He wanted to ask before he drank, but desire to impress Gabrielle was greater. Louis rolled his lips before lifting the bottle to them, taking a short sip at first, then a longer drink once he’d ascertained it didn’t taste terrible. On the contrary, it tasted… light. Nice, but not like anything he’d ever tasted before. Almost like nothing. The brunette lowered the bottle and inhaled deeply, unsure what he was meant to feel until a strange sensation filled his chest and moved to his fingertips, raising goosebumps across his skin as it spread.

Louis turned to face Gabrielle as she spoke, giving her a very obvious look from toe to head that he’d been too shy to do at the beginning of the night. “Yeah.” He said quickly, gazing at her almost a little too intently, but he was too tipsy to realise. “Both. Smarter than me, definitely.” Louis moved a little closer, more aware now that this might be the only chance he got with her alone. He felt strange. Oddly buoyant. Words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them: “The prettiest girl in school.” Louis’ eyes hadn’t left hers, he wasn’t sure where this burst of confidence had come from, but he had an inkling the alcohol might have something to do with it.

She just shrugged when he asked her what the drink was. She hadn't spent much time reading the label. The blonde watched him move closer, thinking about why she'd brought him in here, and the way her mood had shifted entirely since she'd told him to stay with her. Her birthdays tended to be pretty shit, with the anniversaries of everything from decaying friendships to family deaths happening around the date. Feeling so distant from everyone in attendance tonight had her feeling both lonely and jaded but she didn't feel so distant from him. Not at the moment. Gabrielle watched him drink from the bottle with mild curiosity, pleased that he'd done it despite the hesitation she'd sensed a moment ago.

Gabrielle's arms were folded behind her back as she waited patiently. She was careful not to knock any of the shelved bottles over; one stolen bottle was probably enough rebelling in this room. Then again... "Really?" she breathed, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. Gabrielle wanted to kiss him just then. Maybe have him push her against her father's desk, knock over that awful photo of her and Fleur from when her age was in the single digits. Perhaps a little more rebelling in here wouldn't go astray after all. The blonde silently agreed that she was smarter than him - it wasn't news, but it was satisfying to hear out loud regardless.

The blonde looked down for a moment, still smiling, long strands of silvery hair slipping over her shoulder with an audible swish. She glanced back up at him as he spoke again, finding his gaze quite compelling, and finding that fact curious indeed. After he said it, the girl wet her lips with her tongue. She moved over to him slowly, reaching for his free hand. "Sounds like quite the crush," Gabrielle said, intertwining her fingers through his. She wasn't much shorter than him, but she looked up at him through curly lashes, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Come on," she said softly, tugging his hand. The blonde led them out of the office again, making sure that he was still holding the bottle. They might as well have more than a sip if they were going to steal from her father. Besides, it was probably something really rare, made from some weird ingredient or whatever. The whole idea made her want to roll her eyes, but they might as well get something out of it. Gabrielle paused, not letting go of his hand, as she opened a door. "Fleur's old room," she said, only taking a half step into it. They used the room as a guest room these days so it lacked some of Fleur's old personal effects. The four poster bed was the same, though. The lace curtains were the same.

Gabrielle didn't linger, but continued their "house tour" down the hall a little to the next, final, room. She released his hand here and opened the door, stepping inside and closing the door behind him once he was inside too. "My bedroom," she said softly. Gabrielle gave him a small smile and moved to the centre of the room, doing a little spin as she gestured. The hem of her dress spun too, swaying a little in the direction she'd been moving as she stopped. She laughed a little, far less guarded than she usually was. She watched him for a second, then looked around, trying to imagine the room through his eyes.

It was classy and elegantly furnished, though there was a section of a wall above her desk where she'd pinned polaroid pictures and notes; a rare slice of sentimentality on display. There was a large, full length mirror in the opposite corner. A bed similar to her sister's. The room was dimly lit by a small nightlight beside her bed, and she felt the increased intimacy of their environment as soon as she'd closed the door. Uninhibited, Gabrielle moved to her bed and took a seat, crossing her ankles demurely to one side as she tucked some hair behind her ear. "So what do you think?" she asked, smoothing out the blanket beside her in a clear invitation to join her.

Louis’ attention darted down as he felt her fingers threading with his. With the slightest of delays he squeezed Gabrielle’s hand gently, lifting his gaze back up to meet hers. He was staring again, but it was a longing look. He could get lost in those pale grey eyes – he did, in fact, frequently. But he was never this close to her. The Bellefeuille’s mind was simultaneously racing through various potential scenario, then emptying and filling with nothingness. He wanted to do something, but he didn’t know what. Hug her? Kiss her? Maybe he was reading too much into everything – he’d been accused of doing that before, and he’d do it again.

Gabrielle’s tug on his hand snapped him out of whatever daydream he’d been in. Louis followed her down the hall, his other hand gripping the bottle labelled ‘Dreams’ tighter. All he could focus on was the fact that Gabrielle Delacour was holding his hand. And not holding it in some platonic, chaste way. Their fingers were entwined. He was almost so busy wondering how they’d gone from nothing to this, whatever this was, in such a short space of time that he almost stumbled into her when she stopped, but saved himself just in time. Louis tore his eyes away from Gabrielle to peer into the room she’d revealed to him—Fleur’s room. If he was honest, it held no interest – he was only concerned with the blonde in front of him. Thankfully, Gabrielle wasted little time in moving them along further. She let go of his hand (at which he tried not to look disappointed) and opened the door.

Louis followed the Papillonlisse girl through the doorway and let his eyes adjust to the lower level of light in the room compared to the brightness of the hallway as she closed the door behind them. Even before she’d announced it he’d known: this was her room. His eyes scanned back and forth, trying to take in everything that made Gabrielle, Gabrielle. It was tidy, sophisticated, mature.

The blonde spun into his line of sight and Louis grinned at her somewhat goofily. “It’s… really nice.” He said, inwardly groaning at his lack of smoothness. He cleared his throat softly and stepped further into the room, lingering by the photos above her desk.

Louis heard Gabrielle move behind him and turned to face her. He wet his lips slowly as she sat, giving her yet another once-over. She looked every bit a fairytale princess perched on the edge of the four-poster bed, the soft drapes framing her and making her seem somehow smaller, less intimidating, more delicate. Here, without anyone else, it felt different – their dynamic. He hesitated for a second as she seemingly invited him closer, resisting the urge to look around and check she hadn’t mistaken him for someone else. “I think it suits you.” He said as he walked over to her, sitting on the bed beside her, a little closer than he had sat beside her on the steps. He swallowed. “I like the photos.” He turned to look at her, immediately entranced by her gaze.

He was still clutching the bottle of alcohol in his left hand – the hand closest to her, the hand he could have placed on her thigh if he had been feeling confident. His eyes flicked to her lips and he parted his own lightly as he thought about kissing them. The fifth year glanced back at her through half-lidded eyes and felt an overwhelming urge take over him, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers somewhat clumsily in his haste.

"Do you think so?" Gabrielle asked, entirely rhetorically. A small part of her internally rolled her eyes at the phrasing - really nice - but it also made her want to smile. Maybe that was the alcohol. She wondered if his mind went as blank as it seemed to be when she turned her grey eyes on him. She wondered what he was thinking now. "Really?" she asked, the question just as rhetorical as the last. The blonde looked at him, smiling a little at the way he was looking at her. She could feel the way she wanted him to like her, wanted him to want her. She could feel it almost tangibly; she sensed her allure intensify, could almost imagine how appealing she must feel to him right now.

It wasn't an on/off thing the way that some people thought it was. She'd spoken about it with Donatella before, trying to explain how she could feel the charm especially strongly when she was really happy, or when she really wanted something, or when she wanted someone to think she was beautiful. Sort of like how a normal human might subconsciously sit a little straighter in the presence of their crush, or fix their hair, or smile a certain way, or how one might change their voice a little when asking for a favour. The blonde thought momentarily of her sister's wedding, where Fleur's unbridled veela nature had been visible and full-force, simply because she was so happy. She was beaming. Of course, Gabrielle could push it too, she'd learned how to do so in the past couple of years. But it was always there, a part of her.

Knowing what was about to come, Gabrielle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, letting him close the space between them entirely without moving to meet him just yet. It was a little clumsy, a little rushed, but she wasn't entirely sober and didn't really notice. It felt good, she thought. It had been ages since she'd kissed someone - not since summer, with Max. She felt a little buz zip over her shoulders. Gabrielle leaned in a little, tilting her head a bit more as she parted her lips and deepened the kiss. Her right hand found its way to rest lightly on his thigh.

Kissing always made her heart race, she thought distantly, a part of her analytical and a bit disconnected. She could feel her pulse speed up now, even as the thought crossed her mind. She was glad now that she'd brought him in here; glad that he'd proved to be a worthy distraction from whatever melancholy she'd been feeling before he'd sat down beside her. She couldn't have predicted it, but it made sense in the moment; he was kind, gentle, absolutely amenable. He was taller than he had been only a few months ago, too. More handsome. She pulled back, breaking the kiss to look at him with half-closed eyes for just a moment before she caught her breath and was moving back in to kiss him again. Her fingertips pressed lightly into his thigh.

It took Louis’ brain a minute to catch up with what had just happened – what was still happening. In the immediate moment he’d kissed Gabrielle his mind had gone blank. There was nothing as important as her. Then, anxious thoughts had filled his conscious. Firstly, where on earth had the courage to kiss her come from? Would she be mad that he had? She was kissing back, parting her lips to let him in. She wanted him to kiss her. Louis was not well-versed; he hadn’t had much practice, but he knew what that particular action meant. He mirrored Gabrielle’s intentions, angling his head a little as he slid his tongue over hers, a delightful zing running up his spine as her hand touched on his thigh.

It felt like it was over entirely too quickly. He felt lightheaded, almost winded. It was like he’d lost consciousness and was blinking his way back to coherency. Louis’ eyes flicked open, he licked his lips and his mouth fell ajar, ready to apologise – but Gabby didn’t look upset with him. Before he had a chance to ruin the moment by speaking, she was leaning in to kiss him.

The Bellefeuille shifted slightly to be able to put the bottle down, swapping it to his right hand and reaching with his fingertips so as not to break the contact with Gabrielle as he placed it on the floor. With his hands now free, Louis was unsure what exactly to do with them. He positioned his left on the bed, just behind them, and decided his right could rest gingerly on her thigh, now that his body was twisted towards her. Did the fact they were in her room, on her bed, mean anything? Louis hadn’t come prepared for… any of this. He’d always hoped Gabby would notice him, but up until five or so minutes ago Louis had assumed it would never actually happen. A pipe dream.

As they made out, Louis’ thoughts continued to flick between mindless bliss and nervous musings. One thing remained constant: he had to keep kissing her. He couldn’t explain it, it wasn’t something he just wanted to do, he needed to. Louis’ heart was pounding in his chest; the room was so silent aside from their rustling that he wondered she couldn’t hear it beating. Dimly, he recognised that everyone else was still downstairs, that the birthday girl was here, with him, and that undoubtedly someone would come looking for her at some point. The hand Louis had gently touching on her nearest thigh moved across to the other side of her waist, gripping her lightly. He didn’t know how many minutes had passed, but that seemed irrelevant right now.

Gabrielle knew she did stupid things when she drank. She'd learned it for the first time a year ago, on a different birthday, with a different boy. Vaguely, she wondered if she was just generally lonely and acted upon this fact when drunk, or if actually being intoxicated was what stirred up feelings of loneliness and a sort of craving for comfort, to be wanted, to be touched. She wondered distantly how far she'd let this go tonight, with him. Louis was a nice boy, always had been. She hadn't really thought of him like this, like an option until very, very recently. Like tonight recently. But here he was, such a nice, sweet guy, sitting on her bed, being gentle with her... she let her mind wander.

Of course, a part of her felt like he was being too gentle. She wouldn't have minded if he'd been a bit rougher, pushed her back, used a bit more tongue. She wasn't going to be the one to make the first move; outside of a relationship it wasn't really her style. But he was obviously into her. Wasn't he? She'd appreciate it if he showed it a bit more, anyway. The blonde moved her hand from his thigh to touch his cheek, her fingertips trailing from there down to rest on the curve between his neck and his shoulder. She let herself be carried away by the feeling, thinking that if he pushed her, if he touched her, she was probably in a mood to let herself get carried away quite a bit further than this.

Suddenly, their moment was interrupted. Her bedroom door was flung open rather hurriedly. Gabrielle pulled back quickly, her hand resting on his chest, her attention snapping to the door. A sheepish-looking teenage boy was standing there, a giggling girl trailing behind him. The blonde retracted immediately from Louis, leaning away from him and then getting to her feet. "Marco," she said slowly. The girl's giggles stopped abruptly as she realised the room they were heading to was not, in fact, empty. The pair were obviously not expecting to find anyone in this room. "Upstairs is off limits," she finished coldly, staring him down as he apologised and the pair disappeared, leaving the door ajar.

The blonde watched the space where he'd disappeared for a moment. She touched her lips, distracted, before letting her hand fall to her side. "We should go back," she said after a pause, looking back at Louis, suddenly quite distant.