you’ll never see the end of the road while you’re travelling with me [fflur]

san diego | 31 august 2002

Sitting on the edge of the bed he was supposed to have slept in last night, Charlie wet his lips as his eyes scanned across the note Kate had enclosed with her ‘wedding day gift’ to him. He’d read it several times, and already hidden the photographs in his bag just in case someone came in to clean the room while he was gone, or move his things to the room they’d be ‘officially’ sharing later. To anyone who walked in, he might look as though he were having second thoughts -- he wasn’t. He was one-hundred per cent, completely, utterly sure that marrying Kate was what he wanted -- the fact that they were already husband and wife (to one another, at least) perhaps helped calm his nerves on that front. Fran was still the only person who knew this, and in less than an hour it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway. They would be married, in front of her whole family, their friends, and his parents and grandmother.

Still, that didn’t mean he was cool, calm, and collected. Charlie had occasionally gotten stage fright before gigs in the early days of Banshee, but it was rare now for him to get the jitters before a show. This, however, felt exactly like it. His chest was tight and his guts were writhing like a pit of snakes. He’d considered having a drink to take the edge off, but that was a slippery slope and he’d promised himself he would be sober throughout the ceremony, and, if he could manage it, a decent chunk of the reception, too. He wanted to be present, for Kate. Wanted to remember every detail.

He felt like he wouldn’t forget the events of the day so far -- like they had been engraved in his mind already. He’d been woken and ushered out of the room so that Kate could start getting ready, and from there almost every moment had been spent in the company of his family, or his groomsmen (and woman), or Kate’s many, many cousins and aunts and uncles who were bustling around making sure everything was perfect. Even the time Charlie should have been spending alone, getting ready, he’d gone to go and see Kate after opening her present to him -- he couldn’t help himself. She must have known he’d want to visit her, but she’d been upset with him at first, for seeing her before the wedding. He had reasoned that 1) they were already married, so they weren’t breaking any rules anyway, and 2) she wasn’t in her dress yet, so it didn’t count even if they were. He was reasonably sure that she’d forgiven him by the time he left to head back to ‘his’ room.

This was the first stretch of time he’d been alone, properly, all day. He was almost ready; dressed but for his jacket and tie, with his shirt collar open to try and keep cool in the heat. His suit was a deep navy, with a crisp white shirt, and brown shoes. His hair was slicked back, no trademark quiff that many were familiar with seeing on stage. Hanging from the wardrobe doorframe was his jacket, a bright buttonhole that matched Kate’s bouquet already attached. On the bed beside him was a small, forest green velvet box, within which were their wedding bands.

Charlie inhaled deeply, then exhaled in a slow, rattling breath. He felt a little like he was going to be ill, and he hoped it wasn’t last night’s dinner because he’d (perhaps unwisely) let Fran make his plate and he wouldn’t put it past her to try and mess with him.

At a soft knock on the door, quickly followed by the telltale noise of the handle turning, Charlie looked up to see Fflur enter. He hurriedly folded up Kate’s note and shoved it in his pocket, offering her a queasy smile. “Hey,” He pulled at his collar and swallowed, his face shining lightly under a thin layer of sweat. “What possessed me to agree to do this in California in August?” He laughed, the rise in pitch giving away his nervousness. He gave her the once over; he didn’t mean to sound unkind, but she looked ‘clean’, for want of a better word. Her hair and makeup was done, and she was in the tropical-hued dress she’d graciously agreed to wear to keep Kate happy. Charlie smiled lopsidedly as he saw she still had her dressing gown draped over her shoulders to ‘protect her modesty’. He’d never, in all the years he’d known Fflur, seen her in anything like this. He hadn’t even really seen her in it yet -- obviously waiting for a big reveal at some point. “Robin seen you all tarted up yet?” He smirked.


@Fflur Blevins

“He’s got legs, he can move around.” Fflur was well aware that she had already checked down this hall; she didn’t need Sam to state the obvious. She also wasn’t whole heartedly looking for the groom anymore, not exactly. He needed to be found, sure, but it could wait two minutes. This whole ‘let’s find Charlie’ business had been the easiest part of the day: ‘covering more ground’ by not searching in some sort of groomsmen mob, purposefully avoiding the other half of the bridal party, generally not having to interact with anyone.

It had been a full day already; she hadn’t been permitted to wear a suit, like she would have preferred, like what would have looked better. Her hair and makeup -- while probably looking the cleanest and most put together in Fflur’s known history -- had been done ‘professionally’; Fflur was still skeptical that they were really a professional, considering how shocking her hair was. She poked her head with outstretched fingers as she walked down the hall, passing by doors without checking behind them, grimacing as she shifted a hairpin.

She paused just in front of a random hallway mirror, one hand still rubbing the pain out of her scalp, the other holding her dress up enough to keep her from tripping over it -- she didn’t hate herself enough nor like Charlie enough to already be wearing the dumb strappy heels she had been assigned. At least something good had come out of this whole thing: Charlie paying for her new dye job. She hadn’t bothered with her roots all summer, certainly had never paid for anyone to do it for her.

But she also had never purposefully been sober this late in the day since.. being sober. But she had taken cues from Charlie, who hadn’t explicitly requested it of her, either. She had found the kitchen on her first round of searching, maybe she could find it again. Fflur shifted, her gaze landing on the closest door. She knocked, though she was already pushing it open, poised to close the door and try again if it was the wrong room. Instead, she found what she was supposed to be looking for: Charlie.

She pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside, closing it behind her. “Hey.” She smiled, only slightly disappointed she hadn’t found the kitchen. Her eyes raked over Charlie’s figure and she raised her eyebrows. This was one of those cliche cold feet moments, wasn’t it? She supposed she ought to wonder why she had needed to look for him in the first place, but he got his question in first. She took her cue from him again, this time avoiding the subject of his absence. “Twue wuv.” Fflur clasped her hands together and held them up to her cheek as she fluttered her eyelashes a few times, keeping it up for a few seconds before dropping her hands and rolling her eyes. True love or not, nothing was worth bringing half the British Isles into this climate for a wedding.

“Fuck off.” Fflur rolled her eyes again as she clutched at the fabric at her chest, ensuring that her dressing gown was secure. No one needed to see her in this gown, especially not when there weren’t a handful of other, better looking women to keep eyes off of her. “No. And I’ve made him promise to keep his eyes shut through the ceremony.” She had one so, though she had only been kidding at the time. Now that she was all put together, though, it was seeming like a better idea. “It’s just a dress,” she reminded him, though mostly she was reminding herself. She rolled her eyes one more time for good measure before taking a seat next to him and nudging him with her elbow. “Did you know you’re missing?”

Charlie rolled his eyes and laughed, “You’re a dick.” He ran his hand back through his hair habitually, then looked down at his palm and grimaced. He’d better not wipe his hand on his suit pants or Kate’d kill him. He glanced around to make sure they were alone – of course they were – and smoothed his hand against the bedding. The sheets were bound to get cleaned later, and he doubted Fflur would nark on him anyway.

He grinned at her when she swore at him, glad to have a distraction from his own nerves now that she was here. “You do realise there’s gonna be photos – you ain’t living this down in a hurry.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “I’ll put it on a Christmas card for the pair of you.” He smirked and pulled a face that was clearly meant to imitate her own expression – albeit more comically, “It’s just a dress,” he mimicked her, doing his best to adopt a Welsh accent and doing a terrible job of it. “You know I’ve seen you in worse. Or, out of it, I suppose.” He bit his lip through a grin, fully expecting a sharp elbow to the side. They didn’t talk about that night but it hadn’t been the only time they’d seen each other in a state of undress – it seemed when alcohol came into the equation both Fflur and Charlie had been more inclined to remove themselves of their clothing, for one reason or another.

Charlie didn’t scoot over when she sat down; they had never really been uncomfortable in each other’s space – in fact, it was a welcome sort of closeness. It helped to ease his thoughts a little. “Am I?” He smiled weakly, “Well, good thing you found me then.” He swallowed softly and picked up the ring box, meaning to hand it to her but just sort of hanging on to it for a moment, staring at it. He'd played off his picking Fflur for the position of Best Man as a way to avoid an issue choosing between Sam and Liam, thus offending the other one, by picking neither. He had, of course, later explained to Sam that he would have been the first choice if it wouldn't have caused a problem, but then he'd also had to reassure Liam the same thing. In truth, it felt right to have Fflur beside him, rather than anyone else. If he’d had a sister, Charlie would have wanted her to be like Fflur. Except, minus one or two instances.

“Thanks,” he started quietly, before turning his head to look at her, “for, you know.”

Did she realize there would be photos? Sure. Did she consider that would be a good enough reason to decline his invitation to be best man? Of course. Did she think she was relevant enough anymore that it actually, truly mattered in the grand scheme of things? Absolutely not. “Fuck off,” she repeated instead of dignifying his question with an answer. Fflur stood there for another minute, one hand holding her dressing gown shut tight, her other hand on her hip yet perfectly poised to smack him upside the face if need be.

“Funny, really.” She was sure there was someone on the premises who could cure him of a black eye with minimal effort but it seemed less than ideal to have to explain that she had punched him to stop him from elaborating on how much time they had spent together less than fully clothed. It was minor details like that that really didn’t need to see the light of day on his wedding day. She had been through many drafts of her forthcoming speech and had stripped it of any and all mentions of any unsavory bits -- but she could still threaten him with it, she supposed. “We’ll see how big that shit-eating grin is after my speech, alright?” She waved a hand -- the one not ensuring she didn’t spill out of anything -- through the air to ignore anything else he had to say on the matter.

Fflur turned her head to look at him as best as she could while sitting so close. “Yeah, found you.” The changing mood of the conversation was palpable, and she glanced down as he picked up a small box; the rings, she assumed. She was glad he had remembered them, because this was literally the first time she had thought about them since she had been told her main Wedding Day Duty was to hold onto the rings. But he didn’t move to hand her the box; she brought her gaze back up with eyebrows.

“You’re welcome,” she said quickly, matching his volume. “For, you know.” She wasn’t one hundred percent positive she knew what he was talking about, but she figured her wild guess of it meaning something like ‘thanks for being here at all’ was pretty close to correct. “You, er-- you alright?” It seemed like a risky question, one of those cliche pre-wedding scenarios that some people were probably expecting, but it also seemed like a better change of course than swinging back around to any discussion about their shared history.

They didn’t do this, exchange feelings, but he seemed pretty close to that territory. Of course, the last time they had been there, Charlie had kissed her and Fflur had returned the sentiment with an elbow to his gut, but whatever. If his wedding day wasn’t the one safe-space-feelings-zones kind of day, then they probably needed professional help. “Y’know the rest of today is the easy stuff, yeah?” She shrugged and leaned into him. “Tell you where to stand, what to say-- minus your own speech of course, but no one will remember it after mine.”

Charlie’s jovial expression faded at her threat; he thought that Fflur wouldn’t reveal any sordid details about them, specifically, but that didn’t mean the Welshwoman didn’t have a full arsenal of all sorts of other escapades she knew about. “Just remember you’re next and I can get you back.” The bold assumption that he would be her Best Man -- or, Maid of Honour, Man of Honour? -- when she did eventually get married was irrelevant right now, it was all he had to defend himself.

He offered her a small smile. Charlie was glad that if anyone had had to find him right now it was Fflur; Sam and Ken would probably never let him live it down (though he wasn’t entirely sure Fflur would either), and he could all-too-easily imagine Liam trying to talk him out of the whole thing -- which wouldn’t work, but it would put him in a bad mood and he didn’t want anything to ruin today.  “Yeah, I’m just--” He cleared his throat, “It’s big. And I don’t know half the people out there. I just don’t wanna...” His hands were fumbling with the ring box, turning it over and over. “I don’t wanna let anyone down.” Kate. He didn’t want to let Kate down. Ever.

“Mm.” Charlie nodded; Fflur was right, it was easy. Or it should have been easy -- they were already married, she wasn’t going to ditch him at the altar. He was just working himself up because of what other people thought, and other people didn’t matter -- Kate did. If she really hadn’t wanted to be with him she would have left by now. She already had once, but she’d come back.

Charlie took a deep breath and nodded again, “Yeah.” He broke out into a shaky grin, “Try to make me at least sound a little bit likeable.” He nudged his shoulder against hers, “Our lot will all know you’re lying but at least Kate’s family might give me the benefit of the doubt, eh?” He turned his head to look at her; she wasn’t immediately recognisable as his Fflur -- the Fflur with hair sticking out in every direction and dark eye makeup, always in black and leather (he understood now why they had gotten confused for being a couple so many times, they were a little too alike, weren’t they?). Right now she looked put together -- responsible, professional almost. “You scrub up alright, y’know?” He smirked, “How long did it take?”

“Right, I’m so worried about that.” Fflur rolled her eyes and nudged him again, more skeptical that he could say something embarrassing about her, rather than the rather hard-to-ignore assumption that he would have that chance; obviously she would return the favor and make him stand by her, wear a dress he didn’t want to wear, the like; it was more the assumption there’d be a wedding, considering she and Robin had never talked about it and she was probably getting way ahead of herself by even hinting at it.

But it was a nice ‘someday’ thought.

Fflur nodded as Charlie talked, averting her gaze to the suit jacket hanging on the wardrobe to give him some privacy to form his thoughts. There was no use in pointing out that he usually went up in front of a much larger crowd that he didn’t know, and those people actually paid to see him. She knew it wasn’t the same; it had been ages for her but she remembered that, at least. Different expectations made for different nerves.

She hadn’t prepared for this; she supposed she should have planned for some sort of nerves, but she had convinced herself she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. So she didn’t protest when he changed the subject back to her, even if it was her and her appearance. “Oh, I know.” She returned his smirk, now on track to keep him from thinking about any of those pre-match nerves. Bringing a hand up to her ear, Fflur pat her hair lightly. “I’m proper lush.”

She blew out air through pursed lips, glancing around the room as she tried to remember how long everything had taken. “This,” she pointed at her updo, “Took about ninety minutes. Then this,” she drew a circle in the air around her face, “An hour.” She sighed and glanced down at her chest, still covered by her dressing gown. “These took a good twenty.” It was a strapless gown, and there had to be a bit of boob-magic (not literally) to get things to fit (and stay) in the right place.

“You owe me,” she concluded with a laugh, looking up at him again. His smirk had faltered a little bit and she bit her lip, close to worrying about his nerves again. She shifted herself a few inches away, enough to properly turn and face him. “New plan. This,” she motioned at Charlie’s face, “Has got to stop. How about you hear my speech now? That can at least get rid of one thing making you nervous,” she said with a nod. It was a good speech. “Or,” she grimaced again, “You can say one thing about this,” she motioned at herself, “And I promise not to punch you.”

His smirk shifted into a grin. “Proper lush,” he confirmed, adopting her Welsh slang.

Charlie’s eyes, eyebrows raised, followed each pit-stop as she ran him through her ‘maintenance schedule’ -- lingering a little longer at her covered chest simply because he’d sort of been operating under the self-imposed illusion that Fflur wasn’t really a woman. "I forgot you had tits." He said aloud, probably too loud, and with no hint of a joke -- though the minute he said it Charlie recalled that yes, he did remember. He blinked and averted his gaze elsewhere, realising it was more than a little inappropriate to be staring at his Best Man’s breasts -- even less so when he took into account--- no, he wasn’t going there. Not today.

Thankfully, Fflur was doing a pretty good job at distracting him; he wondered how much longer they had before they’d need to head downstairs, though now that he wasn’t sat in here alone with his thoughts he wasn’t dreading it quite so much. A little still, but not so much. He grinned down at his lap and nodded, unable to muster a laugh of his own, “I know I do.” He wet his lips and lifted his head back to face her, “I give you permission to hold it over my head until it’s your turn.”

As she moved beside him he listened attentively to what he thought was going to be a ‘sort yourself out’ sort of sermon, but as Fflur kept speaking his face broke out into another shaky grin. “You promise?” He looked skywards, considering (mostly pretending to, anyway) her offer. He was only a little bit concerned about her speech, really, and he figured he’d hear it within a couple of hours anyway so that seemed like a bit of a non-option, to him -- especially when getting a private show was the other choice available. It wasn’t even for shady reasons; he just wanted a good excuse to wind her up and not be at risk of a black eye.

“Give us a proper peek, first.” He nodded his head as if to suggest he wanted a real reveal, twirl and all.

“Fuck off.” Fflur rolled her eyes, swiping her hand like she intended to smack him, but she stopped short. There was really no need protesting his point; she didn’t mind that they weren’t talking about it; preferred it that way. She figured she remembered about three-quarters of that night, had started remembering it shortly after he had ditched her -- Charlie had made it more or less obvious that he had remembered, too -- and thought it best to just never, ever mention it. If anything, it just made her feel a little bad for Kate, and that wasn’t the sort of thing he needed to hear right now.

She nodded as she agreed. “Yeah, you do. Dunno if I could really put a timeline on it, though.” She wasn’t prepared to stop holding it over his head the first minute she got married; never mind that she’d really rather stop thinking about herself in that situation right now, not when she was still sort of responsible for Charlie getting down the aisle.

Fflur didn’t immediately answer when he asked if she promised. She had already said it, yes, but now faced with the option again, she didn’t know if that was really a promise she could keep. But Christ, he already owed her; he’d just owe her more. “Promise.” She watched him with eyebrows raised, waiting for him to make up her mind. She knew which option she prefered, but she didn’t think she had made him nervous enough about her speech for him to pick that.

“Ah, Christ.” There wasn’t about to be a show, but she couldn’t exactly give him that proper peek while sitting right next to him. Fflur rolled her eyes again for good measure as she stood up and took a few paces back. She brought her gaze back around and caught his eye. “One thing,” she reminded him, her hands working at the knot -- she hadn’t trusted anything less -- of thin fabric at her waist that had been keeping her dressing gown secure.

It was nearly equivalent to flashing him -- certainly felt like she was, anyway -- as she pulled open her robe and let it fall past her shoulders, catching it at the bends of her elbows. She didn’t look bad, necessarily, but it was a far cry from anything she had worn in recent memory. The dress was a lovely shade of red, sure, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. It was also strapless; she had never before today needed any sort of special bra for anything, but there she was with all her boob magic. But it was the whole picture, really; the hair, the dress, the makeup, that generally made her feel too exposed. Jesus, did he owe her.

Charlie laughed in response, only flinching a little bit at her swat.

His expression softened; his lips pressing together in an unintended gesture of sympathy. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t even have a timeline a year ago,” he said quietly. Kate had been living with him for just over a year now (minus their brief intermission), and though he’d obviously liked her enough to find a job for her just so that she had an excuse to be with him all the time, he hadn’t been thinking marriage when he’d invited her into his life. In fact, getting married hadn’t been something he was remotely interested in until he’d started falling for Kate -- he wasn't sure when exactly that had been, obviously before the fiasco on New Years Eve.

Charlie sat up a little straighter, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm, as he was reminded of something they’d said to one another about marriage, once. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be the one breaking off our 'agreement',” he smirked. He was referring to a drunken pact they’d made years ago: if we’re both single at fifty, let’s just marry each other and adopt a cat. He hoped that bringing it up now would be taken as intended: another thing to lighten the mood and pass the time before they were due downstairs.

Charlie bit his lip softly, not really trying to hide his grin as Fflur got to her feet. “One thing,” he confirmed with a nod before waving a hand dramatically, “if you don’t render me speechless with your beauty.”   

He watched -- equally amused and anxious -- as her hands worked to undo the tie at her waist. Charlie had an overwhelming sensation of this being a lot less savoury than it really was; like he was at one of those burlesque shows she’d taken to him to back in Paris and she was the star. He leant forward, elbows on his knees, and brought one hand up to cover his mouth – not to hide his expression so much as to press his fingertips to his lips in an effort to keep them shut lest he blurt something out and spoil his one thing.

She shrugged out of the dressing gown and Charlie's eyes popped a little as they darted from her face, to her chest, to her hips, and back around again; clamouring to take all of it in and commit it to memory. One thing. 

“Are you wearing a push-up bra?”

Charlie didn’t have a timeline last year and no, in fact, that did not make her feel better. Fflur didn’t want to compare her own relationship to Charlie’s; she didn’t want to compare it to anyone’s. It was its own thing, good in its own way. But she also didn’t want to talk about why she had more faith in her own relationship than in Charlie’s, never mind which one of them was the one getting married in forty minutes or so. “Sure,” she said with a shrug. It wasn’t a conversation for now -- or ever.

Fflur raised an eyebrow at the mentioned of their agreement. It wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t remember something she had said or done or agreed to, and she couldn’t tell from Charlie’s smirk if it was something she should be worried about or not. She laughed and shrugged it off. “Yeah, you blew it.” She’d ask him later what he was talking about; for now, she wanted to get this whole dress ordeal over with.

She stared resolutely at the ceiling; it was so much easier than to look at Charlie, at the stupid grin she assumed he had plastered on his face. He was quiet for a few seconds too long, though, and she focused on him with a look of clear disapproval. This was horrible; she should have just pulled him out of the room and pushed him toward the altar without trying to cheer him up.

“Am I…” Fflur closed her eyes and sighed dramatically, shrugging her dressing gown back onto her shoulders but not bothering to close it again. She opened her eyes to immediately roll them before staring down at her chest. “I sure am.” She sighed again as she caught his eye. “Someone offered to,” she paused and waved an imaginary wand in the air, “them for me but no way that was happening.” They hadn’t looked this good in a while, she figured. Thankfully for Charlie, she was blonde.

She sighed one more time before resuming her seat on the bed next to him. “One thing,” she reminded him with a smirk, assuming she hadn’t rendered him speechless with her beauty.

He was rolling his lips inward, pressing them together in an attempt to stifle the massive grin that was threatening to burst through – but after about thirty seconds he couldn’t hold it anymore. Still, he wasn’t laughing, yet, so she had to give him some credit.

Charlie was quick to notice that Fflur didn’t bother fully engulfing herself in her cover-up once her little show was over – perhaps she realised that he’d already seen it all before anyway. Just never quite like this. Though they’d seemingly left the topic of Fflur’s happily ever after for now, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder, as he continued to stare at her, what she’d end up wearing when (in his head it was now when, not if) she did finally get married – a tuxedo? Maybe a white leather jacket?

“They offered to what?” he inquired, with as straight a face as he could muster, genuinely unsure of what she was trying to mime. Something boob-related, obviously, but he was more versed in releasing breasts from their restraints than trying to contain them. Not that he needed her help, but his line of sight kept being drawn to her chest and he thought he really couldn’t be blamed for that right now – Fflur wore t-shirts almost exclusively, no plunging necklines. He wasn’t even sure he could remember seeing her bare shoulders before, apart from the times they’d been naked – and he was focusing on the skinny dipping occasion, rather than any other – so this was something he had to take advantage of while he could.

She sat back beside him and Charlie bit his lip, as though he was physically restraining himself from saying anything further about how she looked – but though his lips were still his eyes were busily examining her; properly styled hair, neutral makeup – even down to her manicured fingernails. Charlie placed his hand over hers loosely, giving a gentle squeeze, “Thanks.” He swallowed softly, meeting her gaze, “I know this,” he gestured at her entirety with his free hand, “isn’t your thing.” He licked his lips habitually, keeping his voice lower, “and I know I’ve had my one thing," he breathed in slowly, "but you look alright, you know?”

“Well apparently,” Fflur started, still staring down at her chest, oblivious to Charlie’s focus on the same thing, “Muggle bra technology isn’t good enough for some people.” The loudest proponent had been a Duenas cousin, she had thought, but the point was that she was not going to have someone pointing her wand at her breasts. “But this,” she smooshed them up with her palms, “Will just have to do.” It was still far more effort than she would have ever put into things, and that was going to have to be enough.

She angled herself towards him as she sat, their knees touching thought her mind was still focused on barring him from saying anything else about her appearance. She pursed her lips as he broke eye contact with her; again she felt more on display than ever, all past experiences with him included. The last time her hair had been up in public had been her last quidditch match, and that was probably the worst of it all -- and also the thing she wouldn’t be discussing.

Charlie placed his hand on hers and she steeled herself for another comment; what he offered was far from what she was expecting. “Oh.” Her expression softened and she turned her hand over to return the squeeze. He wasn’t wrong, far from it. It wasn’t her thing. She shrugged instead of agreeing, figuring her point was made enough considering it was still his wedding day.

But he spoke again, and she readied herself for another comment again, but she was caught off guard. Again. “Oh,” she said again. “Thanks.” That sounded sincere; it was too nice for the pair of them. She swallowed, scanning his face properly for the first time since she had found him. She couldn’t recall ever coming across a nervous Charlie, but if she had to come up with what that would look like, it would be have to be something similar to what she was seeing now.

“Are you--” she paused, wrinkling her brow as she searched for the right ending to her question. It wasn’t ‘having second thoughts’ or ‘sure you want to do this’ because she had long ago decided that he did want to do this. “You alright?” She had asked that once already, but it clearly hadn’t done the job.

Charlie continued to stare openly at Fflur’s chest; thankfully he was at least polite enough to keep his mouth closed as he did so, though she seemed somewhat unbothered (or unaware) that he was doing so. His brow shot up a little as she squished them – them being her breasts – up and together. He really ought to look away, she was his friend – but he kept ogling. Charlie cleared his throat quietly before voicing his opinion on the matter of muggle bra technology: “I think it’s doing a great job.”

Charlie had to keep himself from stroking his thumb over the back of Fflur’s palm as they held hands – that wasn’t a friendly thing to do, either. It was kind of nice, though, to have this level of… intimacy wasn’t the word he wanted to use – familiarity? Understanding? Closeness back. Before (and including, he supposed) that night they’d always been touchy sort of friends. He could understand why they’d lost that after he’d been a right prick about everything. Could understand even more after he’d made a drunken, leery move on her the first time they’d seen each other since. Why did she put up with him again?

“Yeah, don’t get used to it.” He smirked, though the expression wasn’t as full of confidence as it usually was. His words had been genuine, if not more plainly-dressed a compliment. He hadn’t wanted to sound like he was hitting on her on his wedding day. ‘Alright’ was alright. Anything more might’ve landed him in hot water.

Something shifted in the air as the minutes to being needed downstairs dwindled; Charlie met Fflur’s gaze and held it, anticipating the words that were going to come out of her mouth. He considered her for a moment, the nodded softly. “Yeah, I want this,” he said, answering the question he knew she had really been asking, though she’d been tactful enough not to. He let out a long breath through his nose. “It just feels… real now, I suppose.” He let go of her hand to pick at a bit of lint on his trousers; he was starting to get clammy again and he didn’t want her to feel it. “I’ll be fine once we get into it. I just hate the waiting.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” She returned his smirk as best as she could, but sitting so close -- and holding hands -- made it seem like everything had an extra sort of seriousness hanging over it. She wanted to make sure he was alright, but asking him if he was more prodding than she was really accustomed to doing. They were more the sort who didn’t announce that they cared; that’s what worked for them. As far as feelings went, Fflur was really only comfortable talking about negative ones. Of course, her entire speech was focused on the positive, but she had thought she’d get to save them all for that; one and done.

Fflur bit her lip as he nodded, answering the question she hadn’t actually asked. This felt like the wrong time to argue with him, to try and prove that she had believed he wanted to do this before this moment, so she stayed silent for another minute, letting him talk himself out. She took a turn to nod, though it was more out of solidarity than any actual understanding.

She looked down as he let go of her hand, nodding again. Fflur couldn’t empathize, not really. Sure, she was probably the closest to marriage she had ever been, and she hadn’t had the same sort of doubts that had crept into her relationships before Robin, either, but she still wasn’t about to get married in half an hour.

“I get that, I think,” she said after a few seconds, glancing sideways at him. “The waiting,” she clarified. She might have never walked down the aisle, but she had experienced some modicum of nerves as she waited in a locker room, itching for something to happen. But this wasn’t a quidditch match -- or a show -- where there would (usually) be another one if something didn’t go exactly to plan.

Was that it, then? This was such a Big Thing, especially for him. She understood that much, at least.

Fflur grabbed his hand again, waiting to speak until she caught his eye. “It feels real because it is real.” He didn’t need encouragement, she didn’t think, but it was the least she could do to distract him for the few minutes until she’d need to alert everyone else to his whereabouts. But distraction or not, there was still plenty of truth behind her words. “You find that person--” she reckoned she had found hers, anyway “--and when you know, you know.” She shrugged, almost regretting skirting so close to talking about anything personal. “Y’know?”

Charlie glanced sidelong at Fflur and nodded, grateful that she was at least trying to understand. He knew they had more in common than was obvious – their muggle backgrounds and a fondness for alcohol – they’d both experienced being in the public eye and having expectations placed upon them; performing, so to speak, even though they came from opposite ends of the spectrum. He was the creative one, she was more athletically talented – or so he’d heard. He’d never actually witnessed Fflur in the realm of Quidditch, only getting a taste for what she might’ve been able to do those nights where she’d given him a black eye. But he knew, even if he didn’t really know, because other people had told him. He still remembered Sam’s reaction to finding out that Charlie had met ‘the Fflur Blevins’. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

His eyes fell to their hands as Fflur took his in hers, before he looked back up to meet her gaze and hold it. Serious Fflur hadn’t been a regular visitor in their friendship before that night – in fact, Charlie couldn’t remember if they’d ever really been serious back then – but she’d been cropping up semi-consistently since their reunion. Was that because they were growing up, finally? Was he more serious now too? He supposed he must be if he was getting married, or… already was.

Maybe that was part of what was messing with him, too; this was a permanent step in the direction of being a real-life functioning (debatable) adult. He was committing to putting someone else’s needs before his own, to being responsible for another person. For Kate.

Charlie’s lips tugged up at one corner, offering her a lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is.” She was right, it was real. He knew that. He just couldn’t think of any other way to articulate what it was he meant; but it seemed she, once again, understood where his thoughts were at. Or sort of, anyway. His eyes searched her face as he wondered if she knew. It sounded like maybe she did, but now wasn’t the time or place to ask. Charlie nodded softly, averting his attention to his suit jacket, and gave her hand another soft squeeze. “Yeah, I know.”