don't be the one to leave first | prosper

It had taken some time for her to realize that she wanted to see him again—not in the usual way they met up when they went out in a group of friends, as they did every once in a while, reminiscing over their days at Beauxbatons or a recent play or an exhibition, anything really. Not quite like that—she wanted to see him in the way they had been avoiding for several months now: alone and undisturbed by the maddening crowd that constantly surrounded them. They would often talk about doing this, when they bid farewell to each other, empty words, promises to hang out together the way they used to in the past. Neither of them really made the effort. Part of her wanted to believe they both avoided being alone together on purpose. Maybe the tension would be too much, or maybe, and most likely, he had no desire to see her any more often than he already did. For what? He had been living in Paris pursuing his dreams, Montserrat had opted to live in London to pursue her own. They had their moment and now it was over. It was time for her to move on.

Montserrat knew better. She knew that the two were better off apart—what had happened between them had been short-lived, nothing more than a simple way to past the time while they waited for something better to come along. For him, it eventually did. Montserrat had made the mistake of not demanding a title, to be called girlfriend to be able to say that she was in a relationship. After all, it had never been in her nature to demand anything from anyone else. When everything had been said and done, twice, she had tried her best to avoid him—but he had managed to somehow become a permanent fixture in her life. It was a scary thing, how natural it felt to be around him, so much so that at times it took considerable effort not to brush her hand against his, not to initiate physical contact. Time spent with him tended to stop and rewind, focused on the short months when everything had been going so perfectly well. Sometimes she longed for the courage to tell him how she felt, had felt it several time in the past year, but she wanted to believe that they would eventually find what they desired in each other.
 
She took a seat on one of the stools at the wine bar, the one closest to the corner of the room and furthest from the crowd, and ordered something red and dry for the both of them. She had to do it now; she had to tell him the truth. The last conversation had made her nervous, he was seeing someone, and that word was enough to make her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. Montserrat accepted the drink graciously, drinking the entire thing and asking for another one before he arrived. Surely he didn’t mean it, surely she was just some girl that had grabbed his attention for a moment and it would not be long before he would move on to the next person. She looked around the room, her back straightening as she caught sight of him and waved him over. “Hi there,” she said with a smile relaxing naturally as she eased into French.

She shifted in her seat, turning in the stool to face him more, would he think her odd if she hugged him? She refrained. “Sorry to have to make you come to London, it’s the first night I’ve had off in ages,” she confessed, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she smiled sweetly, the expression on her face a direct contradiction to the storm of emotions that brewed in her heart. “How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since…” she remembered immediately, but the last thing she wanted to seem was more eager than necessary, “Arnaud’s party, was it?” she adds finally, it had been a particularly difficult one for her, especially after he had told her that he was seeing someone, a little too drunk for her own good and suddenly upset, she had left without saying a word.

let me know if any changes are needed~ @Prosper Lachapelle 

Prosper had always had a habit of remembering the better parts of past relationships and skipping on the bad parts. With Montse, though, he remembered everything; there weren't really any bad parts. Not many of them, anyway. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her sitting at the bar; she was such a sweet girl and a good, caring friend. He did his best not to think about other things she was, or other aspects their relationship had held in the past; there had been many good aspects, and certainly ones that weren't so appropriate to be thinking about now. It wasn't really appropriate to remember the last time they'd been alone like this, for example.

"Montserrat," he said warmly. Internally shaking himself, Prosper reached a hand for her upper arm as he greeted her. He almost went in for a kiss on the cheek too, before quickly remembering who he was with and withdrawing to take a seat on the stool beside hers. "It's good to see you," he said honestly. Prosper shrugged his jacket off. It hadn't really been that long since he'd seen her, but it had been a while since he'd seen her like this; alone, somewhere relatively quiet, away from their mutual friends. He thanked her for the drink she'd already ordered and took a quick sip.

"Oh no, don't worry about it; I'm in London all the time," Prosper said with a smile. At the moment, he was here once or twice per week. He often stayed at Ari's place on weeknights, doing his best at letting her get to bed before her early morning starts (though not always succeeding). Her roommate didn't seem to like him very much; he didn't seem impressed by the elaborate dinners he made in their kitchen. Prosper didn't know why; he always made sure to clean up when he stayed over. Truthfully though, it didn't bother him too much. It wasn't her roommate he was trying to impress. "...Since Rosa's performance?" He finished, then corrected quickly, "Oh, Arnaud's, that's right." Prosper nodded with a bit of a smile; he'd spent that night with Diederik and the boys, pleased to finally have them all in one spot without the girlfriends and fiances. Not that he hadn't begged Ariana to come that night, of course, but she'd been busy and he'd remembered his tendency to blow off his friends when he was really into a girl, and tried to rectify it a little.

It wasn't his fault; he just got so caught up in it all. So caught up in her. After they'd spent a week together in Greece, Prosper had been quietly trying to plan their next getaway; he immediately missed spending long days and nights with only her. He'd had to work hard to tone himself down for her, knowing that she wasn't as into over the top romantic gestures as he was. "I've been good," he said honestly, his thoughts lingering somewhere on a sunny beach. "How are you, though?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink before adding cheekily, "Still working too hard?"

“Are you?” she was curious about this new development. The poor lighting and coarseness of London did not suit someone as elegant and refined as Prosper Lachapelle and so the witch wondered why he would ever leave the glamour of Paris to spend more time here. Maybe he was visiting friends more often, she considered, attempting to figure out why Prosper had avoided spending time with her if he was in London so often. Unless of course, this was…and just like that, the thought faded away. She did not want to think that he was still seeing the girl he had briefly brought up the last time they spoke face to face. Montserrat would not feel defeated by a woman that did not exist. They still had chemistry, she could feel the delicious prickling right under her skin when he had touched her, her heart racing at the very thought of sharing a space with him. It was a nice contrast to the constant struggle she was in when at St. Mungo’s and naturally, she felt drawn to him, granting him a sweet smile and nodding in agreement when he brought up their last place of meeting.

“It was a crazy night, I’m surprised you remembered at all, but not unusual,” she commented, time spent with Prosper felt like snippets of moments that were removed from her everyday life. There was St. Mungo’s and Dilys, which constituted the majority of her day, and then there was the time she had spent with him, whisked away into a sort of romantic alternative reality she rarely ever wanted to return home from. But as their short-lived romance fizzled, Montserrat had been overtaken by a feeling of restlessness; maybe it had been that very feeling that had encouraged this sort of impulsiveness. But she could still feel it, if the chemistry was there then would it not be safe to assume that there were underlying feelings waiting to be resurfaced? Montserrat was intent on finding out.

“It’s been difficult, though this month is particularly stressful, it’s been very good actually,” she responds after a moment, the word very added as a sort of safety, not wanting to give the impression that she had a very monotonous life. Sitting next to Prosper like this made her feel incredibly boring. “I’ll finish Dilys by the end of June or so and will probably spend the summer with my parents in Barcelona,” she continued. Barcelona was her first love, and Prosper, being her second, had heard much about her childhood, at least when they took the moment to reminisce on the past. The thought of going back home for the entire summer was a small light at the end of the never-ending tunnel that constituted schoolwork. “You should visit,” she added quietly, as if to test the waters and gauge his reaction, “Meet my parents, I told them a bit about you last year, they’ve this great winery down the street from my old neighborhood, it’s very quaint and charming, I think you’d like it…if you have the time of course,” she added, her index finger tracing circles into the bar counter top as she took another sip of her wine, before finally tapping it decisively against the counter. 

She crossed her legs, averting her gaze as she stared down at her glass of wine before sighing softly. “It’s odd, isn’t it? This time last year I considered quitting because the exams had been so hard and what…happened between us,” she started softly, “And here I’m almost a Healer,” she smiled, proud of her accomplishments. She looked over at him for a moment, “I still think about us a lot, maybe a little more than necessary when I am particularly lonely,” she confessed. It was an embarrassing thought but Montserrat had never felt it necessary to be anything but honest with him. “How things would have been a lot different had I just gathered the courage to tell you that I…” she sighed a little, taking another drink, “Anyway, no use lingering on the past, you’ve plans for the summer?”

"Ah, it wasn't so crazy," Prosper said, a mischievous glint in his eye that belied his words. In truth, he remembered picking glitter out of his hair many days and multiple washes later. He took a long sip of his drink, then held the glass elegantly to the side, his elbow resting casually on the bar. It was nice to see her, he found himself thinking. He'd been spending so much time with Ari lately that he hadn't spent much time with old friends from school; there was something comfortable and simultaneously refreshing about being with someone who he'd known for a long time. Whose history he didn't need to work to find out.

"Yeah, I love Barcelona," Prosper replied, nodding. His grey eyes lingered on hers for a moment, though, gently searching for meaning. He did that kind of thing all the time; visited old friends in foreign cities impulsively, on short notice. It wouldn't be out of character to actually follow through on an off-handed comment like that. But there was something in her words that incited a kind of warning tone in the back of his head. The urge to bring Ariane up casually in conversation appeared suddenly out of nowhere. Something told him to dampen his usually flirtatious nature.

"You thought about quitting because of... us?" Prosper asked, matching her gentle tone as his brow furrowed a little. It was obvious suddenly - her words had made it obvious - that their fling thing or whatever it had been had meant a lot more to her than it had to him. They hadn't really talked about it afterward; she'd just started getting busier and he'd taken the hint that she didn't want to see him anymore. He knew that there had been some miscommunication, but after he'd told her about a night spent with his redheaded friend, there had been no drastic, immediate change. She hadn't walked out, or yelled or cried or anything. Then they'd met up again months later and hooked up at that party. It made him feel a touch guilty now, even though he internally countered that there was nothing to feel guilty for.

The biggest irony of the whole thing, he thought, was that he'd been really happy back then. He could still remember with striking clarity the first time they'd kissed; sat precariously on the roof of a mutual friend's house while a party raged downstairs. At the time, he hadn't had much reason to think she was unhappy with their arrangement. He'd have made things official and exclusive with her in a heartbeat, if he'd known she'd wanted to.

Retrospectively, of course, he could see how ignorant he'd been. Especially knowing what he did about her "special powers" and the fact that he'd been the first person who she'd really shared all of that with. Basically her first. He and Ari didn't officially become a thing until what, January or something? And they'd been casually seeing each other for a couple of months by that point? He knew she'd have been hurt if he'd been sleeping with other girls in November or December, even though they weren't technically exclusive. It was clear that he'd been a less thoughtful and considerate person a year ago. More self-centred and used to a very single and free mindset.

Prosper's glass was at his lips again and he forced himself to swallow the liquid calmly rather than do a double take at her next words. He placed the glass on the bar, glancing at it for a moment before looking back at her. She thought about him? When she was lonely? He really tried to contain his thoughts then, he did, but the ah... intense... nature of their relationship coupled with those simply did not allow it. It was ego-stroking, really, he thought. The man cleared his throat as if it would clear his mind too.

"Ah... some," he said, gathering himself quickly. Prosper rested a forearm along the bar, glass still in hand. He gave a light smile. Chemistry was a funny thing, Prosper thought. He was happy with Ariane, content to have his his mind preoccupied with thoughts of her at least eighty percent of the time. He was learning English, planning and plotting surprises, spending his days in dreary London for her. In the bedroom... He suppressed a smirk at the thought. Needless to say, he relished time spent learning every part of her.

All in all, he really did not want to be thinking about the girl in front of him in an anything-other-than-friendly way. But did being here, drinking with him evoke memories of the last time they'd been drinking together for Montserrat, as it did for him? Did she want him to want her? Was that why she'd brought that up? Prosper was pointedly ignoring the fact that physical chemistry didn't seem to spontaneously combust once you decided that it should. Thinking back to repeat flings and hookups with past love interests, Prosper really should have learned that by now.

"I told you I was seeing an English girl, didn't I?" he asked casually. Might as well get straight to the point, he thought. If he was overthinking things, and the alarm bells in his head meant nothing, then the answer was still an appropriate one. "I think I might take her away somewhere this summer," he said. London wasn't built to enjoy summer, he thought. Funnily enough, Barcelona had been on the list of places he'd been considering. Neroli had crossed his mind very briefly at one point, too. He'd rolled his eyes at his past self.

"How about you?" he asked.

It was in Prosper’s company that Montserrat oftentimes found herself longing for the past; the memories they shared in the past always seemed to stand out in relation to the plethora of experiences the young witch had lived so far. Nevertheless, the nostalgia brought with it a sort of bitter-sweetness that lingered in her mouth every time she spoke of the past. He was still the same he had been months earlier, charming and incredibly handsome, the sort of man that someone like Montserrat had always felt particularly proud of claiming in public through their public displays of affection. But then again, he had changed. Montserrat could not put her finger on it just yet but the way he spoke to her had changed. Maybe she had simply failed to notice it before. “You’ve always had the stamina for that sort of stuff,” she teased, knowing well enough that Prosper had always been a bundle of energy, not just in the public eye.

Montserrat was unsure if his nod and sentence were connected; if he had registered or understood what she had been trying to allude to. It was very uncharacteristic of him to answer so vaguely, but she refused to linger on it for fear of coming to a false conclusion on her own. It was just her head getting a rise out of her emotions, she figured. As a child, the woman had always had a difficult time taking words for face value, always digging for a figurative meaning, reading between the lines as it were. Instead of simply asking for clarification and risk sounding delusional, Montserrat opted for silence which only grew more insecurities. “The weather can be a bit too hot in the summer but it’s home and I miss my mom’s cooking,” she said instead, not insisting that he come visit. Prosper did not seem too interested in the idea to begin with.

Nevertheless, the young witch was much too curious about the relationship between them to give up talking about it. It made sense, after all, even if they had known each other for years, those two short periods of time were on a completely different type of connection. Montserrat wanted to try again, she finally had the strength, the courage, and most importantly the time. But, in order to talk about the future, the two of them had to look back and discuss what failed to work the first time around. She took a deep breath, before softening her expression into a smile.

“It feels like a long time ago but it was difficult for me at the time,” she clarified, or at least tried to, her eyes trained on the drink in front of her as she struggled to meet his gaze for fear of breaking down into tears as the feelings she had experienced resurfaced so vividly. “It wasn’t your fault—I should have communicated it clearer, that when we agreed to start our… fling…” she paused again, finally gaining the courage to look up at him. If Montserrat wanted a chance to start things over, she had to at least put forth more effort. “I developed feelings for you very quickly and wanted us to see each other exclusively,” she concluded, bringing the drink up to her lips for a brief sip before returning it to the counter. “I guess I figured you’d get disinterested or something silly like that, now that I look back on it, I was always a bit dramatic and childish,” she added, in a way scolding herself for allowing her heart to feel anything at all.

 Being with Prosper was intoxicating; so much so that it made her act in ways very unlike herself. However, Montserrat wanted to believe that she had matured significantly since then and could now handle things in a very adult-like manner. Even though she was older than him, Prosper had always had the upper hand in the relationship. She honestly couldn’t imagine him thinking about her when they were not together.

But his hesitation worried her, and she brought the drink to her mouth again to force herself to stop talking so much and to listen to what he said to her. Montserrat could already feel how fast her heart was beating in her chest. However, hearing the very words she had been dreading for months made her heart almost stop momentarily. She held her breath, put her drink down and looked over at him in confusion before realization dawned on her. When he had told her in passing that he was seeing someone, he had not been joking. If the two of them had been together since then well—it was safe to say that it was much more serious than she had originally expected. 

Several moments passed, “So you weren’t joking,” she stated more so than asked, the look of disappointment probably a little more obvious on her face than she intended. “When you talked about coming to London you mean to see the English girl…I see,” she said the words even though they were meant for her own thoughts. She stared at him blankly as the devastating feeling of a missed opportunity coursed through her body. “…I’m happy for you, you've always been very lucky in romance, and here I can't even score a date,” she said finally, forcing a smile and making fun of her own situation in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I don’t have any special things planned, apart from seeing my parents. Just want to sort of take it easy before I start working,” she explained even though she was not interested in moving on with the conversation. Montserrat had so many questions. “But tell me about this English girl of yours…how did the two of you meet?” Why didn’t you wait for me? she asked herself but the answer was obvious. “What's she like?” What does she have that I lack? she added. Maybe Prosper had not been as interested in Montserrat as she liked to believe. Maybe she simply wasn't his "type"; not for the title of girlfriend at least.

People changed. They moved on, met new people, fell in love. Prosper was not the same man she knew last year. And it hurt.

I didn't want to stop seeing you. Hadn't he said that at a friend's party on an autumn night, less than a year ago? At the time, It hadn't even crossed his mind that it might not have been healthy or useful to bring up; he just wanted to make himself clear, and to make her feel better. It didn't cross his mind now, either. "I wouldn't have," Prosper stated, still frowning. Of course, there was no way to know whether or not he would have lost interest in her. Though the months and years gathering between his current self and his fifteen or sixteen year old self continuously dampened his restlessness somewhat, he was still a very restless person as an adult. He fell in love with new ideas all of the time, fell out of love with old ones just as quickly. Prosper believed what he said, though. If she'd said these things so plainly last year then he was sure he'd have jumped into a relationship headfirst. She'd been the most interesting person in his life at the time.

The young man finished his drink, then indicated to the bartender that he'd have another of the same. "Ariane," Prosper said, nodding. He felt compelled to give her name, make her more real in this context. She wasn't just the English girl anymore, not to him. "Cheers," Prosper said, half-smiling at her self-deprecating joke. "I'm sure you're exaggerating though," he added, unable to help himself as he waved her comment away with an affectionate smile. "I bet the boys are lining up, whether you give them your time or not." She was intelligent, beautiful, sweet. He'd always thought so; it was what had made him bold enough to show interest in high school when he was fifteen and she was a seventh year.

There was a little awkwardness here, but Prosper was no stranger to things like lingering feelings and unrequited crushes. Regardless of their history, they were still friends and the best thing he could do now was just keep conversation flowing smoothly. Internally, however, he reflected on their rather short-lived fling. He supposed he'd just been happy to have everything; the freedom to kiss, touch, sleep with whoever he ended up kissing, touching or sleeping with; a girl to surprise, to spend his time and money on; someone to talk to. He'd basically had a girlfriend and permission to play around at the same time. There was an adage about this, he thought. Something about eating cake.

Of course, he'd also thought that she'd been happy with their arrangement, which was clearly not the case. His thoughts drifted and he found himself wondering about his relationship with Ariane. He was happy with monogamy, he thought. Despite his spontaneous nature and seeming inability to think about things before he did them, he'd never really been tempted in this way. While he wasn't blind, and his thoughts occasionally wandered when he saw a beautiful girl or the first time a co-worker at the theatre had hit on him, he was happy with the way things were. Happy with her.

Prosper wondered if his current relationship could ever be an open one. Doubtful. Ari was so new to the world of relationships, he didn't think that she'd really ever mused upon non-traditional relationships. He hadn't kept any secrets from her about his history in the world of sex and romance, but he also hadn't gone into too much detail about some of the more outlandish situations he'd been in. He wondered what she'd think of it all if he did. The tone of his thoughts shifted as he considered the fact that thinking about her with other men drew all kinds of negative emotions up from the depths of his chest. Prosper had a jealous streak. A possessive streak. Another part of him that he hadn't gone into detail with with Ariane.

"The first time we met was at that Hogwarts ball, years ago. Do you remember? The Victory ball?" He shifted a little, turning to face her. To his side, his new drink arrived. It happened a year after the battle of Hogwarts. Prosper had worn silver dress robes. He'd approached her with Shakespeare on his tongue. "But we only really started seeing each other at the start of this year." Or, the very end of the previous one, he corrected internally. They'd only become official at the start of this year. No need to say that though; he couldn't remember the exact date that he and Montse had hooked up after that party, but it was probably only a month or two before he started taking Ariane out.

The nineteen-year-old ran a hand back through brown curls, scratched the back of his head absentmindedly and then rested his forearm back on the bar. What was she like? He smiled a little, thinking of the brunette fondly. "She's lovely," he said, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He glanced down for a moment, then back up. A part of him wanted to gush a little; it was very much in his nature to get caught up in things, and he was very much caught up in her at the moment. But he didn't want to needlessly hurt his friend, who was obviously still harbouring some sort of feelings for him. "She's hard-working - training to be an auror, actually - but she's soft. Sweet. Really genuine, too, always entirely herself." He shook his head. "If that even makes sense."

Ariane wasn't the kind of girl who played games, or the kind of girl who was afraid of embarrassment, but her confidence was on the quieter side.

She managed a smile. His words were reassuring even if she did not completely believe them. Montserrat had observed him long enough to come to her own conclusions about how their relationship would have gone, if it had ever happened in the first place. The novelty would wear off soon enough and then all of the unpleasantness and dissatisfaction would show itself in ugly ways. At least until now, it had always been her excuse.

“Ariane,” she repeated slowly, though the word felt disconnected from her mouth. It registered but at the same time it felt distant and somehow unreal. “She has a very pretty name,” she added in an effort to ease the pain, the slight tightening in her chest when she realized that the woman he had spoken of before was very real. She brought the drink up to her lips again, taking a shaky breath as she reminded herself to remain calm. Montserrat had never considered how she would react if he were to tell her that he was seeing someone else. A large part of her had hoped that like the redhead he had been with in the past, this new girl he spoke of months prior would sort of disappear, have a new name and a new face every time they spoke to each other until the two of them realized that they could work if they put forth the effort. But that had not been the case at all. If anything, Montserrat was one of the many girls he had entertained himself with for a short while before arriving to the woman he was with now. And coming to that realization filled her with heartache.

“I only have eyes for my textbooks now,” she responded, bringing her hair up to run through her hair as she considered whether or not she needed another drink. She wasn’t sure if the heat gathering on her cheeks was from the wine, the young witch unfortunately had a tendency to get drunk rather quickly, or from the utter embarrassment at being rejected. No matter how much she wanted to simply leave and cry herself to sleep, she would simply have to replace her thwarted plans with something else. Montserrat needed to process what she had just heard but could not simply get up and leave in the middle of the conversation. “But no, I go on dates sometimes, things like that—but well nothing like…” you. She smiled sheepishly, “Anyway, once I start at St. Mungo’s I’ll be plenty busy. I’ll have to live my romantic life vicariously through you,” she gave him a dimpled smile, discreetly calling over the waiter as she asked for another refill. She needed the liquid courage. They were friends now, Montserrat would simply have to get over her disappointment.

The only way to resolve her feelings was to find someone else. At least it was advice she had been given by some of her friends when she had vaguely alluded to being in love with someone who only saw her as a friends with benefits. At the time, they had often advised her to make demands or walk away. But how could she just walk away from Prosper when it was so obvious that she cared about him in a way that she had never cared for anyone before? Had she been a lesser person, or a more competitive one, Montserrat would have tried her hand at seducing him. She could at least say that she understood that part of him rather well. Montserrat could lean in closer, rest her hand on his thigh and whisper all of the things they did before, focus on the memories and the nostalgia to lure him into her arms, even if only for one night. But she wouldn’t dare. His girlfriend played a small part in such a decision, the witch simply did not want to force him to choose her when it was very obvious that she was not what he wanted in the first place.

“Ah, yes, I remember,” she replied, propping her arm up and leaning forward to support her head as she listened to his story intently. They had met so long ago and were now dating, Montserrat was naturally curious about what had happened in between. “That’s very lucky then, it isn’t every day that one meets the person they will eventually end up with—it’s like fate, something out of a novel,” she smiled. In a way, it was a very Prosper-like relationship, meeting the perfect girl at a ball sounded like something out of Romeo and Juliet.

It made absolute sense. Montserrat liked to think that she was hard working even if she had a tendency to lose heart when things became particularly difficult. She had often been called sweet in the past, even if a little too docile. But genuine. Now that was something Montserrat had never been. She struggled with pleasing others, oftentimes avoided certain topics or conversations for the sake of not provoking conflict. She had not been entirely herself when the two of them were together. If she had been, Montserrat would have told him that she cared for him and wanted to be with him. If she had been, maybe they would be sitting here much closer than they were now reminiscing on how they started and how they got this far. At least it was a nice fantasy, a small imagine that she would keep to herself. “She sounds great,” she agreed. Had she been a friend, Montserrat would have even added that she wanted to meet her, but in all honesty, she wasn’t ready to make such commitments.

"So you’ve been together for a few months now, coming to and from London and not once visiting me, I thought we were friends!” she said playfully though everything that proceeded from her mouth at this point sounded hurtful. “I’m sorry,” she added, sighing a little as she tried to recompose herself. “I’m glad things are working out between the two of you, she’s a very lucky girl…as long as you’re happy then I’m happy,” she continued. Montserrat wasn’t sure if he cared about her feelings in the first place but she also did not want him to believe that she was spiteful.

Prosper reached for his glass, a part of him wishing he'd already knocked down a couple to take the uncomfortable edge off of her trailing sentences. The implied ellipses in her words led his mind down the same paths he imagined hers was already traversing. A few dates, but nothing like... you. She didn't have to finish for him to guess her final word, or the thought process behind it. It was dawning on him with increasing clarity that he'd made a mistake with her. Montserrat hadn't had the same naive air about her that Ari did when it came to romance. She hadn't seemed quite so... inexperienced. But he'd known that she was. He drank deeply.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was older than him. She was also more serene and gentle than Ari. Had a more mature air, in some ways. Maybe that was why he'd thought their arrangement was fine. The were both adults, after all, and her for longer than him. Or, he thought suddenly, perhaps it had more to do with the fact that he and Montserrat had already been friends. It hadn't been difficult for him to flirt with her, pursue her rather hot-headedly, and then slip into their romance with ease. He hadn't been careful getting what he wanted, hadn't moved slowly at all. And she hadn't moved slowly either. Their existing friendship had only served to speed things up, and when they'd briefly discussed what they were doing, the fact that it was non-exclusive, he'd taken her words at face value. She'd seemed to be fine with it, so he didn't question it any further. Maybe he'd been more careful with Ariane's feelings because of the way he'd hurt the girl in front of him.

That thought made him frown.

"She is," he replied distractedly. Prosper was a smart young man, sharp and witty. He'd done well in school - when he could focus, at least - and had always been well-spoken and talented with words. But he wasn't very logical. Immediately, he wanted to say things that would feel good to say, and things that would feel good for her to hear. He wanted to clear the air, clarify the way he'd felt back then, deliver some kind of absolution for them both. He didn't stop to think that framing things in terms of what ifs and would haves could hurt her again, or dredge up past wounds, or even lead her on. "We are friends," he said, a little too seriously for the kind of casualness she was clearly attempting to achieve. Prosper didn't stop to think.

"Hey, don't," he protested gently, placing his glass back down on the bar, mostly empty. His lips were stained a shade redder from the drink. A part of him wanted to reach for her; touch her hand or her arm as he spoke. Convey the level of genuineness he felt through touch. But touch was a different thing for her, for them. A language in which they were both fluent, perhaps dangerously so. Still, he leaned forward just a fraction, his hand resting on the surface of the bar moving a centimetre closer to hers. "Don't apologise," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he added sincerely, grey eyes meeting hers with weight. He hadn't intended any of this; they'd gotten to this point very quickly, and it was still uncomfortable. But he still cared about her. Still wanted to connect. He didn't stop to wonder if doing so might result only in some kind of very short-term good. If he should maybe just leave it alone, keep pretending that he wasn't getting the subtext between her sentences.

"I... didn't mean to hurt you back then," he said. They'd been friends, hadn't they? They still were, weren't they? Prosper had known her since he was about fourteen years old, their social circles had always overlapped, even when they were young enough that their age gap actually meant something. "I am happy now," he said, a necessary precursory remark to allow or excuse the rest of what he had to say, "but it wasn't nothing to me, you know." I developed feelings for you very quickly, she'd said; he felt like her phrasing implied that he hadn't cared, or that she hadn't mattered. He didn't like how she'd chastised herself (dramatic, childish) for thinking he would grow bored of her. At the same time, though, he thought she had the wrong idea about his feelings at the time. Prosper had always felt so high when they'd been together. He'd meant it when he said he hoped things would stay the same. What was her phrasing? We'll always be like this? something like that? At the time, he'd wanted it.

How she longed for a small glimpse into his mind, a small hint as to what he was truly thinking. Prosper had always had a way about him that made it impossible not to love him, to care about him, to find him blameless. Even as she spoke to the man that had broken her heart, even if he did so without meaning to, Montserrat found herself incapable of anger or spite. She wanted validation for what they had before, wanted to be reassured that there could have been something between them had she pressed forward instead of pulling away with excuses about school or other engagements.

Rather than being disappointed in him for not giving her the commitment she longed for, she blamed herself for not sticking around, for lacking qualities that he had obviously found in someone else. She became consumed with thoughts about how Ariane and Prosper had met, how they had gotten together, began to formulate ideas about how their relationship worked in efforts to desensitize herself from the fact that it did indeed exist. Montserrat wanted closure but was also afraid of it; she desired to hold on to her little fantasy just a little bit longer. She wanted to keep believing that deep down, even if just physically, there was something about her that was special, something that this Ariane did not possess. She needed validation.

Montserrat became uncomfortable with the thought of how much she suddenly longed to kiss him; her mind distracted by the soothing apology he offered, her eyes by the redness of his lips. It was humiliating how much she still wanted him regardless of the fact that he had made the seriousness of his current relationship clear. But more than words she needed physical comfort, an embrace or a gentle kiss to her forehead to make her feel cared for, even if only for that moment. She swallowed softly, mulling over his words as her hand moved closer to his for a moment just to pull back completely. This was not a solution to the problem, the two of them were well aware of the effects of any sort of contact that originated from the man before her.

He had a girlfriend now, no matter how much she longed to cross the line a little, even if just to gauge his reaction she would not cross that line. Montserrat could only hope that doing what she considered to be morally correct would pay off in the end, give her good luck in the future somehow. Had Ariane been in her position, would the woman give her the same courtesy? If she was as sweet and kind as Prosper claimed, she could only hope so. “Sorry for what, Prosper?” she replied gently, unsure of why he felt the need to apologize. “You were absolutely perfect, it was simply a case of bad timing I suppose…had I a timeturner and had a chance to do things differently maybe I would have, maybe we would have been a little more than just a fling but then you wouldn’t have had a chance to be with Ariane. It would be selfish of me to wish such a thing,” she reasoned, bringing the wine to her lips again for a brief moment.

She brought the glass back down to the counter slowly, unsure of how she felt about his words but wishing he would have just ignored her and continued talking about how great Ariane was. The way in which he acknowledged her feelings, reassured her that she had meant something to thing made her heart beat a little faster. No wonder Prosper had always been so popular with girls, even in this sort of situation he was devastatingly charming. “…Don’t say that,” she asked, her expression growing a bit serious as she held his gaze for a second before looking away. “I came to meet you with the wrong intentions, not for an apology,” she confessed, a little embarrassed by her words as she spoke them. It must have been the alcohol that was allowing her to speak so freely to the man before her. “If I were any bolder I suppose I would…” try to kiss you she trailed off, "protest somehow," she added even though the words sounded out of place. Smiling down at the glass as she became amused by the many ways in which she had successfully managed to focus his attention on her in the past. Would he reject her if she tried it? Surely, he would have. Either way, she wasn’t drunk or courageous enough to try such a thing. She cleared her throat, this was not going in the right direction. “Has she met our friends? Have you met hers?” she asked as casually as she could manage, trying to steer the conversation away from her.

His frown deepened when she asked him to clarify his apology, before dismissing it. If accused of guilt here, Prosper would be the first to defend himself; on technicalities, he hadn't done anything wrong. It was an easy position to argue, because it was true. But she'd been hurt by it, hadn't she? She was still affected, even now, over a year after they'd been together, brief hookup in-between excepted. He'd been on the other side of unrequited feelings, had obsessed over someone who didn't want him like that. And when it came to expectation disparity, Prosper had probably hurt a lot of girls, he thought. But not all of them had been friends. It might seem inconsistent to a more logical person, but whatever. He cared about her. He wanted to make her feel better now.

It would be selfish of her to wish such a thing, but a part of him indulged the wish internally. Maybe in some kind of parallel world or something, he thought. Prosper was swiftly falling for Ariane, was entirely caught up in her, and was clearly happy where he was. But for his past self, and for Montse's past and present self, he wished she'd told him how she felt. He shifted in his seat, finding a more comfortable position before indicating to the bartender to bring him another drink. Prosper had more fortitude than he had when he was younger, but he still shifted from sober to drunk with minimal drinks. Even now, after just two glasses of wine, he could feel the way his thoughts relaxed, the already tenuous filter between his brain dissolving into the liquid.

"Not wrong intentions," He said, offhandedly, waving one hand a little, "you didn't know." He hated the way she was blaming herself, turning everything inward. As a friend, it unsettled him. Had she been like this the whole time? Insecure? He didn't remember it that way, but then he'd obviously missed a lot when they'd been together. Her intentions weren't wrong. In fact, if he didn't have a girlfriend, Prosper was almost convinced they'd be somewhere else by now, hands on each other, whispering all kinds of sweet nothings along with less innocent things. He put that thought from his mind.

Protest somehow. What did that mean? "If things were different - " he started, then paused, realising how that sounded. His attention flicked away for a moment, to the glass that had just been placed to his right. He picked it up, very interested in downing its contents. Eyeing the liquid inside, Prosper sighed, dissatisfied with his vocabulary to try to explain what he meant. "I just mean that it was a timing thing. Just a timing thing." He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers, hoping he was conveying what he intended to. That there was nothing wrong with her, that he'd cared about her. He drank.

A small part of him pointed out that his feelings for her at the time clearly did not match her feelings for him. Of course he hadn't been happy when she'd stopped responding and had gotten too busy to spend time with him; he'd been disappointed and confused and a touch melancholic. But he hadn't pursued her. It hadn't taken him long to sleep with someone else - not even a month. He obviously hadn't been in love with her or anything, and didn't carry his feelings onward over the span of months, as she had. But this voice seemed unimportant when the other thing was true too; he did care about her. He would have dated her in a more official capacity, if she'd said that was what she wanted.

"Ah... Yeah, some," Prosper said, finding it difficult to just dismiss this whole thing and move on to casual conversation. He cleared his throat too, straightening a little and holding his glass to one side. "She's met Diederik, and Zara, some of the others. Actually... Emil asked out one of her friends," he said, half-smiling, the expression genuine. Their friendship groups were clearly very different, but Prosper didn't mind. He tried to follow this train of thought, tried to move on with the conversation as she clearly wanted to. Speaking about his new girlfriend didn't really seem the proper way to do it, but he followed her lead. "Ariane and the friend - Freya - were at my seventeenth, actually" he commented, remembering the fact. Prosper had flirted with Ari rather drunkenly then, but hadn't paid her much attention aside from their initial greeting. She hadn't been at the top of the list of girls who captured his attention that particular night. He refrained from adding: you might have seen them around.

But I did know. “Right,” she smiled sheepishly. Montserrat felt increasingly guilty the more time she spent sitting next to Prosper wishing that things were different between them. He had told her that he was seeing someone else, she simply chose to ignore it with the hopes that it was not true or that by the time she had the courage to tell him how she felt, he would be single again. Montserrat had seen him do it before, become entangled with one pretty face after another only to lose interest after a couple of days or even just one night. Now that she considered it, she wondered why she had ever felt special in his eyes. It was an intoxicating thing, becoming the object of his attentions, only Prosper could look at you as if you were the most important thing in the universe. Accompanied by a silver tongue and good looks to match, he could make any girl’s childish fantasies of prince charming come true.  Montserrat came to the conclusion that even if it was a few nights longer than anyone else, she, too, had been just another girl.

And even though she was well aware of all of these things, here she sat falling deeper for his words, his phrasing leaving an air of mystery that she filled in with her own desires—a possibility—that even if not at this very moment, she did still have a chance. What was it about him? Montserrat was no stranger to handsome men, several of her colleagues at St. Mungo’s were just as good looking and charming. It wasn’t as if she had no other options, retrospectively she had many opportunities to see other men; one or two had even gone as far as to ask her out for something small like coffee or lunch with the hopes of getting to know her better. The young witch naturally agreed, she had always been much too polite to deny anyone anything, especially something as unassuming as lunch. However, it was not long before she started to draw parallels between her present and her past; ultimately deciding that something was missing: a spark, enchantment, passion, all words that could only describe what she had felt with the man sitting next to her.
 
“Don’t worry about it,” she offered instead, not wanting to overcomplicate things by reminiscing on the past. Montserrat attempted to distract herself with the thought that he was happy now and that if anything, he needed a friend to relay what he was feeling. “I guess we’ll never know,” she added, immediately regretting her words. Montserrat pushed the glass of wine away from her in an effort to remind herself to stop drinking. She was starting to simply say whatever came to mind at this point and that was not something that he wished to hear. Inadvertently, she was making him feel guilty, it was obvious in the way that he tried to reassure her and the thought that she had become this sort of person made her feel a little sick to her stomach. She straightened her back, moved to put a little space between the two of them and decided to cut her losses. “But that’s all in the past now,” she attempted to give him a more genuine smile, waving the thought away as if it was not blatantly obvious that she was indeed hurt by all of this. If anyone, Montserrat was to blame, she had the opportunity and had simply allowed it to slip from her fingers.

Montserrat listened on as he answered her question, nodding politely and smiling wherever she thought appropriate. They had never introduced each other as boyfriend and girlfriend as that was not the nature of their relationship so she wondered what they knew Ariane as. Had he told them that they were dating? Seeing each other seriously? Or, had he simply introduced her as Ariane and allowed them to come to their own conclusions based on the way they behaved towards each other?  She felt a little jealous that Prosper had not introduced Ariane to her earlier; after all she had always believed the two of them to be close. Maybe that had all changed after the way in which they parted both times they were together the previous year. 

“She’s met the whole gang then,” she wondered but it was more of a statement than a question, the names were familiar ones in their circle even if Montserrat was not particularly close to anyone apart from Prosper. She, too, had meet them a couple of times in the past. “Is that so? Once I’ve landed myself a boyfriend we can all do group dinners," she started, losing herself to the idea, "open a bottle of nice vintage, talk about art and literature and the ongoings in Paris," it was a nice memory, "remember when we did that? I’ve missed it terribly, Dilys is all logic all the time,” she explained. The sad thing was that she could not even bring herself to anger as if Ariane had taken her place; she had never held a place in Prosper’s heart to begin with.

“Oh then I might have spotted her. Odd isn’t it? How that works, I might have already met my future boyfriend ages ago and now it’s just a matter of making my way back to him again,” she laughed softly at the thought. “It’s all very romantic,” she added, giving in and reaching for the wine again when she started to feel a little sober by the depressing thought.

In contrast to his companion, Prosper did not move his drink away. In fact, he took another deep sip, then held it to once side again rather than replace it on the bar. Easier access, he figured. She gave him a smile, which looked both pretty and sad to his eyes, and he half-smiled back. He wondered if he was projecting, or if she was as easy to read as he felt she was.

The whole gang. And his parents too, he thought distantly, but he was reluctant to divulge details that he was sure would only hurt her. His mother had been warm and welcoming. It had taken her long enough, but Diane had finally gotten over the mourning period she'd gone through upon finding out Zara was engaged to someone that wasn't Prosper. She'd moved on; she really liked his girlfriend now. He and his mum had spoken about Ari at length sitting on their slatted roof drinking mulled wine together a couple of months ago.

"Sounds nice," Prosper said, resisting the urge to make a comment about how everyone was getting married with an accompanying eye-roll. Diederik, Zara and Volker were all married or engaged and those three had been three of his best friends for a very long time. He felt too young to be making such grand commitments, but a part of him was secretly happy that he was now a member of the Serious Relationship club.

Impulsively, he asked, "do you still go to those slam dinners?" His grey eyes met her dark ones again, this time with a spark of genuine curiosity. Quite a few of their mutual friends used to regularly attend dinner events at strangers' houses where people would recite poetry. It was a pay-as-you-will sort of thing; the menu changed every time and consisted of whatever the host could cook. The address changed each time too, a letter with its details sent out only the day before to a mailing list of people who'd already attended. You literally had to know someone to be able to attend a dinner - it was very exclusive. When he and Montse had been spending time together, they'd gone to several.

She was right again, of course. It was romantic. Prosper lived mostly in the real world; he knew that relationships at nineteen didn't necessarily last for the rest of your lives. Neither he nor (he assumed) Ari were thinking about marriage or kids or anything so permanent anytime soon. But why would he be with her - why would he have been with her for basically the last eight months - if his mind didn't spin possible futures with her in it? When he looked back at it all, it certainly felt poetic; his sixteen year old self had been quite enchanted with the Hufflepuff girl, and he'd seen her a handful of times over the past few years. Then they'd accidentally attended the same art installation in Paris. She'd looked beautiful then, too. It was easy to draw the arc of their relationship to the seemingly inevitable present.

He liked the way she described that - the idea of making her way back to a man she'd met already. He hadn't imagined it in those terms, but the poetic sort of symmetry of past and future, and of two partners - where the line of symmetry was drawn at the place they met - rung true. "It is odd," he agreed with a nod, "and... yeah, I'm lucky." Prosper, usually so eloquent, didn't know what to say, so he just mirrored her action automatically, raising his glass to his lips again.

His response to her suggestion had not sounded at all convincing which led her to believe that he was not particularly interested in having her remain a part of his life now that he was with someone else. Montserrat supposed that she could not blame him, had the two women somehow ended up in the same room it would make for a comical, if not extremely dispiriting, situation. She distantly wondered how she would be introduced, if the word friend he had used with their mutual companions would somehow translated that it wasn’t the run of the mill sort of relationship they had with everyone else.

Montserrat found the lack of title the most difficult thing to understand. She had agreed to a non-exclusive relationship, that much was true, but in the end the two of them found themselves stuck between a friends with benefits and actual relationship phase. The witch lamented that she had never had the opportunity to see what he was like as a boyfriend. He had been an ideal companion to her during their fling, who did Prosper become as a boyfriend? She became increasingly curious to find out, even if only through the relationship he had with someone else.

“Sometimes, yes,” she answered, “They’re still quite entertaining, you and Ariane should go sometime,” she added, holding his gaze for a moment longer than necessary before looking down at her drink. It seemed inappropriate to ask him out anywhere anymore. Montserrat had started avoiding everything that reminded her of Prosper once the two of them were no longer together. She was afraid of running into him without preparation, unsure of how she would react if she saw him with another girl or if he appeared in the company of their mutual friends without so much as a word of invitation from any of them.

As time passed, she felt even more out of synch with their group, as if she was somehow the odd one out. She had started to spend more time with the friends she had managed to make at Dilys or through the help of her roommate, dubbing it a fresh start and a desire to become more fluent in English. It was an odd thing how something as inconsequential as a mere fling had cut her so deeply. What made matters worse was that she had no one to complain to her friends about. “But I’ve been busy,” she explained, though this conversation had probably made it obvious that it was her way of mentally checking out of things, claiming to be busy.

Montserrat had plenty to do for school, that much was true, but all of the times she spent away from Prosper had not been with the intention of studying or anything of that sort. It had been her way of somehow remedying the situation; forcing herself to believe that what he had done was not his fault, it was hers, and the quicker she learned to forget it, the better for the two of them. He had apologized, the two of them understood that things could have been different had she said something, what else was there to say? Montserrat had started to convince herself that even friendship was impossible at this point. The cut still felt fresh, maybe because she had avoided this conversation for months.

“Yeah…” she answered in a sort of agreement, running her hand through her hair, “So,” she continued letting out a sigh, “Where should we go from here?” she pondered, turning a little in the stool as she faced him again, pulling down her skirt as it rose up just slightly. “I’d like for us to be friends again, like we were before…eventually,” she confessed.

Wow, that was direct, he thought. It was fitting, though. Montserrat had only ever teased him in specific scenarios; she didn't play games. In some ways she and Ari were quite similar like that; neither girl put in effort to be deliberately unreadable. Not like a lot of other girls he'd spent time with - Luciana, for example. As a result, it was less easy to skirt around difficult topics by employing something as simple as semantic tricks or word games. He hesitated for a moment, wondering suddenly how much she'd had to drink exactly. He deliberately didn't look as she adjusted the hem of her skirt.

Prosper had always been swayed so easily by current emotions. That hadn't really changed as he'd gotten older. He was full of convictions, and some of those tended to double in specific contexts. Right now, for example, he should be able to distance himself from the situation emotionally. Really, it would probably be better for her if he did. Prosper should have known that the slight, concerned frown etched lightly into his brow right now probably unsettled her more than it comforted her. He should have known that wanting to touch her, even knowing it would make her feel better in the moment, would have consequences, and that they would probably be bad.

But he'd never been very good at seeing much past the short term when it came to his feelings; it was what made his life so spontaneous and hedonistic. Distancing himself emotionally simply wasn't an option. It wasn't a setting his brain seemed to handle very well. Seeing her sad made him feel sad, too. He wanted to comfort her, connect, fix it. He didn't think about the ephemeral nature of these feelings or the fact that he hadn't really thought about her since they'd last seen each other. It didn't cross his mind that he probably wouldn't be thinking about her much later, when he wasn't with her.

"I want that too," he said, "If you think we can, I think we can," he added hopefully, tilting his head to the side a little and catching her gaze. Prosper gave her a bit of a smile, searching for an answering one. She still looked sad, distant. His smile faltered a little and he wondered what he should do. "Can I give you a hug?" he asked quietly. "Or is that a bad idea?"

It was a bad idea; surely he was aware of how much physical contact would affect her, especially when it came from him. But she leaned forward in her chair and nodded, swallowing softly as she gathered the courage to embrace him. As soon as skin to skin contact was made, however, Montserrat found herself taking a shaky breath and biting down on her lip as she forced herself to react as little as possible. If she was not conscious of the magnetic pull he held over her before, her body made sure to make it blatantly obvious as the hum of electricity that she had always felt in his presence magically intensified, causing goosebumps and a deeper blush to spread across the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. She allowed the feeling to linger for several moments before she forced herself to pull away. Montserrat distantly wondered if he had asked for that in order to humiliate her, to gauge the effect he still had on her. But, she dismissed the thought just as quickly. Prosper was simply trying to be comforting, wasn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” she muttered an apology, reaching for the glass of wine but deciding against it. It would do little to cool the fire that was suddenly reignited inside of her. “We probably should keep the touching to a minimum…I understand that you’re with someone else now but well…” her body was reacting in accordance to her ability. Her feelings certainly played a part but she could get rid of neither overnight and could only hope that he would understand. It was the first time in a very long time that Montserrat had felt so…awake but just as quickly, as she forced herself to remember the circumstances that surrounded their meeting, she leaned back a little further and looked away.

There it was again, that bothersome desire to kiss him. It was as if something as simple as a hug had brought back all of the nostalgia; flooded her with memories that she had done so well avoiding until that very moment. She could almost remember what it felt to have his lips pressed against hers, his hands holding her close to his body as if he were afraid to let her go. Even with the vivid memories, it felt so very real, so much so that it frightened her. Montserrat was living in her memories and here he had moved on so easily. She was having a hard time coming up with reasons to distance herself from him when touching him, even in a "friendly" way had felt so good; this was not a healthy way to deal with this.

“Thank you, Prosper,” she said after several moments of silence, “You’re very kind,” she added, her shoulders relaxing as she slowly managed to calm down the way her heart was racing in her chest. She wanted to tell him that he no longer needed to put forth a façade for her sake, that it was no longer necessary to feel the need to be kind to her for the sake of helping her overcome her feelings. It was part of the growing up process, she figured, growing pains. After a few more months and some distance she would slowly forget about it, forget about him, and if she was lucky, would have the chance to find happiness in someone else. Someone that would solely be her own.