the dark end of the street [charlie]

Fflur took a long drag off her cigarette, not exhaling immediately, as if she was smoking something else. She was half expecting him to ask her not to tell Robin about any of this and she was ready to refuse him; his own relationship might not have been built on honesty — seemed like an understatement now — but she liked to think hers was; even the silences between her ane Robin, the things they chose not to talk about, they weren’t being denied. But Charlie stopped speaking after he voiced her name aloud, and she finally exhaled as she shifted, catching his eye. She felt bad for him, honestly.

She was pretty chuffed that he didn’t argue with her, that he was well aware that he was a piece of shit. She didn’t follow up her statement with anything else, figuring that was plenty for now. She wasn’t a stranger to smoking in silence, even with others, and did it much more now as a sober person -- she could count on one hand the amount of times they had been sober together -- but it felt so much more weighty now, like her silence was somehow more meaningful. She hadn’t left — she should have, he would have — and she had to give herself credit for that; she hadn’t hit him harder, so there were already two things in her favor.

Arching a dark eyebrow, Fflur watched him as he formed his thoughts. He’d been drinking; she laughed. “I know. I saw, remember?” She figured that he meant drinking drinking, but that seemed like a different conversation for a different time, didn’t it? She might not be a full-time drinker anymore, but that didn’t make her some sort of expert on sobriety -- not that she was so self-centered to think that he was actually coming to her for advice on sobering up. Blind leading the blind, and all that.

She thought much too much these days without alcohol to stop her.

Nodding, Fflur brought her cigarette back up to her lips. She wasn’t sure what the date had anything to do with it -- drinking on a Sunday was normal. Drinking any day was normal when you didn’t have a tight nine to five schedule for your job, wasn’t it? “Well I’m not about to tell you to stop drinking,” Fflur declared with a derisive laugh. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” she added, mostly to herself.

Fflur stood, taking another deep inhale off her cigarette. “Well you can stop kissing me. I think we’ve proven that isn’t fun for anyone. Ever.” The last time they had attempted that they had to work aroujd the black eye that she had given him, which really only proved her point a bit more. She smirked, hoping he caught that she wasn’t mad at him, not really; mostly she didn’t want to flat out say that she wasn’t blaming him for whatever; that was too close to feelings territory. Him attempting it agaij would be a different story.

“I’m kind of done playing golf though,” she added, thinking it was pretty obvious that they should quit. “Mind walking a bit more?” She tilted her head toward the exit. “I can solve all your problems in a mile, I’m sure.” If they kept a foot of space between them, anyway.

Charlie shot her a dark look, but it withered almost as quickly as his resolve. “I meant…” He let the sentence trail off before he even got it started. He meant that he’d been drinking like they used to do together, except that he was doing it alone. It wasn’t fuel for a fun night ahead, it was something to fill a void. But he didn't need to explain -- Fflur knew him well enough to know what he meant.

He wanted to laugh with her, or at least offer her a lopsided grin in response, but he couldn’t muster it. “Maybe you should.” He took another deep drag of his cigarette, breaking their eye contact after holding it for a moment too long. “Not like I’d listen, I suppose," he added, knowing full well that if someone told him he should ease up on the drink he wouldn’t take the advice well. Charlie wasn’t the best at receiving criticism, however constructive, when he was sober – let alone when he wasn’t.

Her next teasing remark was a little more gratefully received; Charlie smiled halfheartedly, as he subconsciously took a step back to maintain an appropriate distance. “Noted.” He flicked his cigarette to get rid of the excess ash and brought it to his lips again. Well if that didn't make it crystal clear. He should have known better, shouldn't have thought (even in his drunkenness) that making a move on her was a good idea -- that it would work without her being off-her-face drunk with him. That was the only time anything had happened between them, wasn't it? When they were both too inebriated to know better.

“Yeah,” he pulled an apologetic sort of face, silently hoping he hadn’t ruined golf for Fflur eternally. It had been fun up until he’d started thinking with his ‘other’ brain. Charlie blinked as his voice of reason (for he did have one, somewhere) reminded him that as much as his ego thought very highly of himself, he doubted he would really have that sort of effect, or any effect, on Fflur. One awkward game of minigolf wasn’t going to traumatise her for life, just like that one night in Paris hadn’t. Hopefully.

Charlie propped his cigarette between his lips as he collected his club and their respective balls. “Yeah," he nodded, “Mates rates? Not sure I can afford your hourly charge.” He offered her a weak smirk, hinting at previous teasing comments about his paying for her company as they made their way to the exit to return the equipment.

Fflur raised her eyebrows, a silent indication that she knew exactly what he had meant. She had been there, plenty of times, and wasn’t about to judge him for any choices he made about drinking; how could she? She had almost always started the evenings out by drinking alone -- it was usually all down to chance that she found someone else to drink with. Wasn’t that why she and Charlie were friends in the first place? And weren’t they good enough friends now that -- as long as Charlie didn’t keep trying to kiss her -- they had other things in common besides alcohol? The sheer fact that she understood what he meant suggested that yes, there had to be something. Fuck, she was getting all kinds of philosophical again.

“Maybe I should,” she agreed after a silent moment, all traces of the laugh gone from her face. He looked away before she did, and she still didn’t lower her gaze as he spoke again. Lifting her cigarette to her lips, she shrugged. Not like Fflur had listened to anyone, either, when it had been suggested to her -- she only made the deal with herself and the powers that be in a last resort to get a job. Maybe she’d decide poverty wasn’t for her; she wouldn’t listen to anyone then, either. Maybe one someone, but she also didn’t think he’d be the type to say anything about it.

She nodded, stubbing her cigarette out on the putting green beneath her. “Yeah.” She hadn’t expected him to protest her wanting to quit, but she was still the slightest bit surprised when he agreed. Fflur flicked the butt of her cigarette away before she stood slowly, retrieving her club from where she had discarded it promptly after Charlie’s poor display of his teaching abilities. “‘Course.” She followed him to the exit, turning the phrase mates rates over in her head before she was rudely interrupted by the need to glare at the girl working the counter saying, “Givin’ up already?”

Fflur lit another cigarette once they were back out on the sidewalk. She wanted to make some sort of comment, something that could remind him of how he had left her that morning in Paris without so much as another word, but the moment felt too fragile for that. Even Fflur could feel it.

“How’s the band?” She asked after another moment, hearing nothing else but the sounds of their boots on pavement. “What’s everyone been up to?” The personal lives of his bandmates was very low priority for her, but it was certainly easier than asking Charlie the wrong sort of question about himself.

Charlie didn’t see any point in beating a dead horse; forcing their way around the rest of the course wouldn’t make either of them feel any better. It would just prolong their misery, hammer home how much of a dickhead he’d been with every subsequent hole, every awkward shot.

An uneasy silence hung between them immediately after getting out onto the street. Charlie tried to think of something to say, something to redeem the situation. He was already getting that familiar, uncomfortable feeling – one he’d get every time he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t do, the same one that had overwhelmed him in Paris, the last time he and Fflur had seen each other.

He let out a breath of relief when Fflur spoke – one he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. “Good, yeah.” He replied automatically, then realised she was offering him an opportunity to dig himself out of the hole he’d found himself in, to avoid leaving their friendship in the same state he’d left it in last time.  He took a quick draw of his cigarette, then tapped off the ash. “Er, Sam’s shacked up, has been for about a year or so now. Some French bird, you don’t know her.” When Charlie thought about it, it was obvious that Sam would be the most stable of the three Banshee boys – he wasn’t into partying, didn’t have the same temptations or ego as Charlie or Liam. He was the golden boy of the trio, always had been.

“Liam’s.. Liam.” He grinned half-heartedly. Fflur would undoubtedly remember the numerous times Liam had tried to hit on her, only for Charlie to step in and ‘save’ her. Charlie might have a reputation in the papers for – up until his relationship with Kate, though he supposed he could include that now too – being a womanizer, but Liam was a serial dater. He flitted from one ‘girlfriend’ to the next with overlaps inbetween. Charlie knew he wasn’t much better, but he’d never intentionally misled any of the women he’d slept with into thinking it would be anything more. If they'd come to that conclusion they had done so on their own. “I think he’s got a girlfriend at the moment, but I’m never really sure with him.”

Why was it that all he could talk about was relationships? He shoved his free hand in his pocket, inhaling his cigarette again as they walked along, back towards where they'd come from. “What about you?” He asked, then figured he better clarify rather than have her start waxing lyrical about her relationship with Robin, given that that was apparently all Charlie could offer about his bandmates; “How’s the um, teaching thing going? Didn’t think kids were your thing.”

“Oh, good,” Fflur responded automatically, not actually particularly caring one way or the other how his bandmates were doing. She hoped he would say more so she could stop asking him questions she didn’t want answers to. He got her silent hint, thankfully, and she was able to continue walking in silence for another couple minutes, hanging onto Charlie’s every word instead of the idea that a drink would make this whole situation immensely easier to handle.

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, her cigarette at her lips as she freely admitted that she didn’t know Sam’s French bird. She hadn’t been about to ask if it was someone she knew -- she honestly couldn’t think of any woman who could have fit the bill -- and she didn’t presume to know every woman in France. But she didn’t say anything one way or the other, simply shrugging again. Sam was the boring one of the bunch, anyway, so Fflur had a worse opinion of him -- or less of one, anyway.

Fflur smirked behind her hand at Charlie’s Liam’s Liam. She figured she knew what that meant, as much as she knew what Charlie being Charlie meant. There had been plenty of times she thought she would be spending the night with Liam, only to have her attentions redirected; she supposed she ought to be grateful; in the long run, Charlie was easier to get on with, she supposed. “Might not be too long, anyway, so is there any real reason to know.” She smiled again, hoping that this was them getting back to normal. Not the normal from earlier that afternoon, but the normal from Paris, before all of that.

The relationship talk was all well and good, and Fflur chanced a glance sideways to make sure Charlie wasn’t about to have some new sort of issue relating back to his own problems; he seemed as good as he’d ever be, she guessed. “Oh, er,” Fflur dropped her hand, shrugging her shoulders. “Teaching is just as terrible as it sounds.” She laughed. “They still aren’t my thing,” she agreed with another laugh. “Some of them aren’t that bad, I guess, but I don’t think I was such a little shit when I was their age.” She pulled her pack from her pocket and lit a new cigarette with the dregs of her old one before tossing the butt away.

“It’s really not that hard though. I just tell them how to fly, and why they’re doing it wrong.” It was almost fun sometimes. Almost. It was more fun to talk shit about them after class, of course, or overhear other professors doing the same thing.

She hadn’t realized that they were walking back towards the pub, back toward the drink she wanted but couldn’t have. “I…” she trailed off before coming to a stop a few feet away from the door to the pub. “I probably need to get back to the little shits, though.” She nodded, taking another drag from him cigarette. “Monday’s an early day for me,” she lied, at least having the courtesy to feed him an excuse rather than sneak away while he was in the toilet. She hesitated for a second, wondering if she should tell him to not do anything she wouldn’t do, but she figured that wouldn’t keep him very safe. Any other words of worry and he probably wouldn’t be speaking to her again.

“I’m not mad,” she settled on, rather truthfully. “Just gotta get back,” she finished with her half-lie. She noticed his waning cigarette and handed him hers, still half left. “Dinner, sometime?” She stood there for another few seconds, deciding that this probably wasn’t the appropriate time to say goodbye like she usually would with these sort of friends, friendly kisses until the next time. She stopped short of recommending another drink, though she was nearly positive that it would make him feel better. It was an awkward goodbye, to say the least. “Gonna apparate. I’ll see you.” She nodded quickly and gave him another smile; with a quick squeeze of his arm, she turned back around and back around the corner to head home.

[[ out ]]