dancing with a stranger. [tag; honey]

look what you made me do, I'm with somebody new
oh baby, baby, I'm dancing with a stranger.

"I'm just going for a walk. I won't be long."

With that, William grabbed his coat and slung a cashmere scarf around his neck and closed this front door with a slam! that wasn't really warranted. With his back against the wall, he rubbed his left hand over his forehead with a groan as he forced himself to breathe. His family was a lot to handle. It was no surprise that they were fractured, what with what Arden went through when she was younger and the fact that his parents should have gotten divorced ten years ago.

Without a backwards glance, his long legs loped down the stairs, taking them two at a time and he winced at the blustery cold wind that flapped his coat open. He just needed some fresh air. As much as he loved and respected his mother, it was getting intense. Christmas wasn't that far away and she'd somehow caught wind of Berenice.

She'd breached the subject of Christmas dinner and the ensuing holidays and he politely reminded her of the absolute shitshow that was last year's festivities. His mum seemed unperturbed and even turned slightly hostile when he told her, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be inviting the Professor over to London in December. It was too much and too close and too tense. He was already in a bad mood and he had to moderate the times he spent with his family because things usually ended up this way.

Will's head wasn't in the game.

He made his way through the quiet square and cut through the park, his soles crunching on the gravel before guilt started to seep in around the edges. He hadn't meant to be rude and his pace slowed as he toyed with the idea of going back and apologising. Will had said he was going for a walk so he might as well keep going.

It was a split decision and a few minutes later, he was standing on the edge of an already wintery looking Hogsmeade village. The writer let out a frustrated sigh, his breath coming out in a little white puff before disappearing almost instantly in the cold. It wasn't that late, around five or so in the evening but it was already getting dark. The temperature had dropped, the threat of frost clinging to the edges of the inky blue skyline as the lights in the shops and houses flickered on, one by one.

His mum loved the bonfire fudge that was sold at Honeydukes this time of year and he hesitated. The last time he'd been here, things had been…awkward. Stilted. Uncomfortable. And then there was that damned article. Of course he'd read it. Like picking at a scab, he knew nothing could come of it but he did it anyway. It was jarring and it made him feel a little bit queasy. It was always going to be difficult to hear that his ex-girlfriend had cheated but worse when he had already had a suspicion about that slimy Quidditch player.

But Honey would be fine. She was always fine. She'd never let anyone see her upset and that was one of the reasons why he'd been so besotted and frustrated by her. He thoughts about writing to her but for what? They weren't exactly friends. Will had never been great with the whole lovers-to-friends-thing. It left him cold and unsettled. He should really have been more comfortable with the idea, especially since most of the women he'd dated tended to like his dog more than him towards the end.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he ducked into a nearby coffee shop and bought two take away coffees, making short work of the incline of the hill towards the shop. He did intend to buy some stuff from Honey but he'd be ready to admit that this trip was a bit selfish. He needed someone to honestly tell him to stop being such a wimp. But more than that, he needed a friendly face. He could spin it a hundred different ways but that much was true. Even if it was twenty minutes away from London, it would all be worth it.

The familiar jingle of the bell above the door announced his arrival and his big brown eyes looked around for the shock of red hair and they softened as he saw it. His broad shoulders filled the doorway as he stepped into the warm, sweet scented air. It was a little inappropriate because this wasn't just her place of work, it was her home and he was too familiar with it. Wordlessly, he held the cup up to her in a salute before he smiled and held it out for her to take.

"Hello," he said kindly, his deep voice rich and soft. Will didn't mention the article and it was hovering between them, unspoken. "Bonfire fudge," he told Honey as he sipped at his cup. "Got any left?"


@Honey Bea Flume

Straightening shelves — by hand — was cathartic almost; the over-and-over movement along the shelves, nudging jars into place, boxes into formation, at least allowed Honey a minute to herself. There were a couple customers in the store, but they were serial samplers, always stopping by to try things out and never making a purchase. She didn’t need to pay too much attention to them; she didn’t think today would be the day they spent any galleons for her sake. The bell rang and Honey turned her head without really paying attention, her hands still moving along the shelves.

Will Dasher. In her doorway. With two coffees. Honey glanced over him quickly, though she had already made up her mind that she was going to play nice, even though he really did deserve a piece of her mind. She hadn’t seen him in months and hadn’t heard from him in the meantime; she knew well enough to not try to force friendship on someone who clearly needed to get over her still; the last time he had been in the shop had ended with a kiss and an epiphany, both for Will’s benefit. She supposed he might owe her a piece of his mind, too, after that article that mentioned many men with one notable exception, but she had gotten really good at not thinking about the paper recently.

“Hi.” She stepped toward him and took the coffee, offering him a small smile before taking a sip — it had extra, extra sugar, just how she liked it — and doing her best impression of not overthinking things. If she was being honest, Will wasn’t the first person she had thought about when that article had been published, or the second, maybe not the third. The stuff about Harlan had been the closest to the truth and Will was smart enough to do basic arithmetic to figure out there had been some overlap between them. He didn’t get angry, she didn’t think; she didn’t think he was the type to get revenge either; Honey lowered the coffee from her lips while she made up her mind.

“Er,” Honey motioned to the other two people in the store and added in a whisper: “I think they’ve just eaten the last.” She rolled her eyes and sipped at her coffee again, forgetting her train of thought from mere seconds ago. “I’ll be making a fresh batch tomorrow, though. Tonight maybe.” It wasn’t an invitation — not this time — for him to wait while she whipped something up, but more of a statement of fact. “Tell your mum I’m sorry.” She was talking about the fudge, she thought, though she couldn’t deny the tiny underlying apologies to his mum for other things. “I tried to give her the recipe, y’know, but…” She smiled as she shrugged, glancing over Will again.

He looked good, less stressed than she remembered from last time. Again Honey had to shrug off her annoyance at being dropped in on unannounced, not giving her the opportunity to look a little more presentable. Her apron was relatively clean, at least. She hoped he wouldn’t leave because the fudge was out, but she didn’t want to talk, not about that, nothing close to a review of their relationship. She hoped he didn’t want an apology; she had done more of that the past several weeks that she doubted she could sincerely apologize anyway.

She wanted to know how he was doing, how his family was, how Dave was. He had left to ‘go find someone’ the last time he had been there— so what about her? She didn’t want to have to offer things in return, but it was just as well. He didn’t want to be her friend. He wouldn’t be there if she didn’t own the best sweetshop in Britain. “Chocolate covered marshmallows, though,” she offered instead, stuffing away all the other questions. “Almost the same.”

The coffee was a weak olive branch and relief flooded his system as it was accepted. He knew he was in the wrong and usually, he was pretty easy with his apologies but his past actions were clanging around his head like a game of pinball. This visit was selfish. He'd wanted to put his mind to rest, to assuage the remaining bits of guilt that was still clouding him. It was pointless, obviously, because Honey never let anything bother her.

But he couldn't hide his crestfallen expression at the last of the fudge being scoffed. "Typical," came the flippant reply as he eyed the shoppers. They were vaguely familiar, he realised. Will waved his hand through the air as he brushed aside her explanation - he didn't need one. He wasn't really sure what he was expecting, turning up later on in the day.

Honey's apology caught him off-guard and he opened his mouth to protest before he words died on his tongue, making him look like a goldfish. To rectify the situation, he paused to drink his coffee. It was hard to miss the insinuation. "That's kind of why I'm here," Will admitted sheepishly. Feeling a little stressed and uneasy, he raked a hand through his dark hair before he exhaled sharply in frustration as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"I snapped at her before. It wasn't her fault." Obviously. Mrs. Dasher was an angel. It'd be so easy to blurt everything out but he needed to remind himself; they weren't friends. Honey might be fine discussing his love life but he wasn't comfortable chatting about hers. Meeting her gaze wasn't easy so instead, he focused on the serial samplers. "You should kick them out," he offered lightly before he managed a smile. While their businesses weren't the same, he knew the sting of annoyance when it came to people taking the piss out of his hospitality.

"She thought she'd put you out of business," Will said fondly with a chuckle. "I gently reminded her that I don't think that was the case." Of course, he wasn't stupid. He knew his mother well and she was a wily little thing. Had she accepted Honey's recipe, she wouldn't really have a reason to visit the shop. The nostalgia was warm but dangerous. Now that his plan was blown, he had to think fast. He really did want to be at the point where they could laugh about this. About their families, about what had happened between them, about their shared past but something was blocking him.

Marshmallows? "Oh great," Will breezed on lightly with a nod. "She'll love them." If he was going to be frank, anything that bore Honeydukes' name would go down a treat. "I'll just --" trailing off, he motioned with his free hand his intention to go and collect them. He knew his way around the shop pretty well by now and he soon returned with a couple of packs. "It's a three bag problem," he explained with a wan smile. With care, he placed them on the counter before turning to face her once more.

"The place looks great," the tall man ventured. He always loved the shop at this time of year especially. It smelled like spices and buttery fudge, cinnamon and cloves and sweet apples.

He needed to bite the bullet.

"I saw the article," he finally managed to blurt out. He wasn't angry and his face remained soft. He'd had a wayward panicked thought that Honey's business might suffer in the fallout but he was relieved to realise that it had not. "I'm really sorry." He meant it, too. Honey didn't deserve those poisonous words written about her by someone who didn't even know her. He was, at least, at a point where he could genuinely care about her welfare without feeling icky or inappropriate.

Plus, Will was a rational man. He tended to offer practical support, not emotional. It wouldn't be what she needed. He wouldn't be what she needed. She looked good, healthy, happy. Without pressing the matter any further, his long fingers plucked out a bag of pink coconut ice and another bag of marshmallows and added that to his pile of things to purchase. It was becoming a four bag problem.

Honey’s brows shot up as the tale of Will getting upset with his mother came to light. She was happy for the change of subject (sorry Mrs Dasher); anything to steer them away from what was hanging in the air, unsaid: the breakup, his last visit, the article. Sweeping things under the rug was a fine conclusion for her, anyway. She followed his gaze toward the other customers and shrugged. “I should.” She wouldn’t kick them out, of course. Besides wanting (and needing) all the business she could get, she figured that having a couple of witnesses would keep her in check.

She smiled. Will’s mum was cute and had reminded her of her own at times. She wanted what was best for her son, which at one point had included Honey. She tried not to roll her eyes at the thought. In another life, maybe. “No, she probably would have.” She had to be careful to not roll her eyes at that, too.

Returning the nod, Honey pointed to the right shelf; clear bags of neatly stacked marshmallows, covered in chocolate and various toppings -- crushed biscuits, sprinkles, toffee. He grabbed a few bags and Honey smiled, congratulating herself for not following him, congratulating him for picking the ones that she thought his mum would love the most. Bags on the counter, Honey paused; normally she would tell him to take them, no charge, but that was too much of a friends thing, wasn’t it? She hesitated for another second before taking a step toward the till, though she stopped again, just a few paces from Will, when he spoke again.

“Ah, thanks.” She glanced up and around, taking a minute to admire the store, too. “Fergie’s been round a lot lately,” she offered as some sort of explanation why things looked so nice. She stopped short of telling him that Fergie had moved in with her, though Will might have already known that; despite Will’s hesitation to be friends with Honey, he had no such issues where her brother was concerned. Still, she didn’t want to get into the reason Fergie was there at all, the--

The article. Honey grimaced as she glanced back at Will, apology written on her face even though she really didn’t want to say it aloud. He didn’t look upset, but she didn’t think he had much practice at that, anyway. She wasn’t about to admit to anything -- the only technical slip up was one kiss -- nor explain her rationale for things, try to explain timelines or how she hadn’t ditched Will for Harlan despite what he (or his mum) must think.

He spoke again, and Honey had to recalibrate, having steeled herself against whatever he had to say, certainly not expecting an apology, not from him. Merlin, he really was too good for her. “I--” She stopped, swallowed. “Thanks.” She didn’t deserve his apology, really shouldn’t still be withholding her own, but there it was (and wasn’t).

“You and I--” she started again, but she was distracted by him moving, adding more candy to the pile. She was backtracking, now feeling like she did owe him some sort of explanation, even though any explanation would just be some sort of admission of guilt. “It was nothing compared to the howler my parents sent.” She smiled the tiniest bit, hoping her redirection wasn’t completely obvious. She tell him anything if he asked, which was exactly what she didn’t want him to do.

Will offered her another smile. He was willing to try as hard as he could to make things normal again. Despite what went on, Honey had been a positive influence on him. He went out more, he didn't take himself too seriously, he was even considering getting another tattoo - three things that a year ago would never have even been on his radar.

He hated the word friend. It was dismal and uncomfortable and it didn't sit well on his shoulders. He thought Honey must be well aware she was a tour de force, a hurricane, a triumph. He'd taken the article badly, despite the fact that he really shouldn't have. He didn't blame her, of course. Being so vivacious, what could a publisher to do keep her entertained? Nothing. The truth was bad but a lie was way worse.

At the mention of Fergie, Will lit up. "No way," he said kindly as his big brown eyes looked around, interested. "He's a nice lad," he replied fondly. Despite only being a few years older than Honey's brother, he was easy to think of him as younger than his years. He still had that spark of joy and determination. "How's he doing?" The writer asked with a tilt of his head. The two men spoke intermittently and he had to admit, he was as surprised as she was that Fergie had decided to keep in contact with him. It was soothing. The Scotsman was a firm friend of his and he made a mental note to write a letter when he got back to London.

Honey's stricken expression made him laugh gently as he rubbed the back of his neck in a repetitive, anxious motion. "You didn't deserve it," Will pressed on, only to happy to fill her silence with his own words before he bottled it. She didn't warrant to be dragged through the press and he realised he should have checked on Fergie, too. He wasn't going to lie, he wasn't a fan of Harlan Bellamy and he hadn't been for a long time, even before he found out what had happened. There was just something about him. He was arrogant and cocky and collected women like trading cards. If Will was going to be honest, he was a little bit jealous.

You and I. Will frowned, this thick eyebrows coming down to furrow as his forehead creased. He'd made the movie to talk about it but now he wasn't sure he did.

"Ah," Will replied, exhaling quickly in a chuckle. "I bet that wasn't fun." Will had been on the other end of her parents' spectrum. People had chosen not to talk about it in front of him in the office. He'd caught his dad reading the newspaper over breakfast and he'd hastily thrown it over his shoulder into the sink with all the grace of a drunken rhino. He had sympathetic smiles and endless offers of cups of tea, chit-chat about the weather, literally anything but the elephant in the room.

"I'm sure they didn't mean it," he added in an effort to ease the discomfort. He did like Honey's parents but they were maybe a little bit too old-fashioned to understand her daughter's life and how she chose to lead it. "Things are better now?" He asked, flicking his dark eyes up to her face, concerned. He turned his head briefly to look at what he'd come here to buy before he sighed gently.

"I didn't come here to make you feel bad," he ventured. He really did think he was fine. He was okay, at worst. "I just wanted to see how you were. And get the bonfire fudge," he joked with a smile. "But," here, he stalled as he forced himself to get past this self-imposed obstacle. "Are you seeing--" him was what he wanted to ask. The Quidditch player. Instantly, shame washed over him. "Sorry," he blurted out. "You don't have to answer that." He was genuinely over her now but he also didn't want to make this any more weird than it already was. Besides, finding out if she had a new boyfriend or not wasn't going to alter what had happened.

Honey shrugged. “They’re good enough.” The only reason her parents hadn’t immediately moved back in with her — to keep an eye on her — was that she told Fergie would be helping her out. She had only expected him to go along with her tiny lie, but he had surprised her and called her bluff, moving in and apparently never moving out again. They were still wholly disappointed, of course, and she was already dreading the holidays, but they were ages and thousands of truffles away.

It was her turn to frown. He hadn’t come to make her feel bad, just there for the fudge that she didn’t have in stock, there to see how she was. All of that could have been handled by owl, and then he wouldn’t have to go through this charade that was only making it awkward for the both of them. He didn’t want to be her friend, but he couldn’t leave her alone, either.

Was she seeing—? Honey raised her eyebrows, only to drop them again when he apologized. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You have to stop doing that. The apologizing. The floundering.” She threw her hands up in frustration, and moved around the counter to start punching buttons on the till, ringing up the non-fudge items that Will had gathered to buy.

She stopped with the till and glanced up. She knew who he was asking about, knew exactly what he was asking. “Viktor broke up with me.” That wasn’t it.

Will must have been aware that that quidditch player was no longer a part of her life; it said more or less the same thing in the very article he had just brought up. He wasn’t stupid and neither was she. Her ‘continuous on-again-off-again relationship’ with Harlan had also been detailed in that article, with a starting date following when she had started seeing the man standing in front of her. She didn’t want to tell Will that they were off again, seemingly permanently, and she wasn’t sure which reason was the real reason why she didn’t want to admit: that she didn’t want to give any sort of credence to how right the article had been or that she didn’t want to admit that she and Harlan had agreed that it was for the best this way.

It was probably her turn to apologize for how things were, how things got to that point, the whole of everything — there was a long list — but she stayed silent save for the sounds of the till.

You have to stop doing that.

Will was stunned into silence as Honey flailed her arms around. Had he done something wrong? He'd done something wrong. Confused, he scratched his head, wincing at the force she was stabbing the till keys with. He was pretty sure they'd established clear boundaries. He was also now aware that he didn't need to see her - he could have written - but he had a sneaking suspicion that his letter would have gone unopened.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. It wasn't quite a dressing down as such but Honey had made him feel well and truly put in his place. Will stood awkwardly, hovering in the middle of the shop as his big brown eyes looked at the door longingly. He should not have come here. Simple as. He'd come here selfishly, to make himself feel better after the argument with his mother but he'd only succeeded in making things worse.

"Oh, I'm sor--" Will bit down hard on the sides of his tongue as he forced the apology back down his throat, heeding Honey's words. "That's a shame," he said in a voice that didn't sound like his own; it was unsure and not entirely genuine. The only Viktor he knew was the famous one and then the penny dropped. Imagine losing the World Cup and then his girlfriend. Poor bloke. So, Quidditch players were her type, then? Hm.

Honey was messing with his head. Again. He really should tell her but instead, he busied himself counting out the money he owed her for his treats. Reaching out his hand, he made a point to drop them into her upturned palm and keeping a respectful distance between their fingers.

Struggling with something internally, he decided to follow her advice. It was clear they weren't friends. They weren't really…anything. He had a perverse plan to try and keep her in his life and she had an apparent desire to bolt. He had no reason to see her. It made things more concrete, what with  her being so far north and him being so far south. He should have done this a long time ago. She should have done this a long time ago.

"Good," he replied vaguely, with a nod of his head as he neatly placed his coffee cup down and popped his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Her non-answer was actually an answer. Or so he thought it was.

Whatever he said now would be difficult not to be understood as bitter or as jealous. He was genuinely pleased that she was dating that Quidditch player, even if Will did think he was an abominable dickhead. In a very un-Will-like fit of merriment, he briefly enjoyed the fact that Honey seemed to be struggling. The moment he felt it, he regretted it. It was like the sensation of being on a rollercoaster. The swooping giddiness of seeing someone get their comeuppance, followed by the sinking realisation that it was a terrible thing to think. At least now she'd banned him from apologising.

They seemed to lack the chemistry and easy camaraderie that would see their friendship through whatever this was. It was fine, of course, but Will never did like to see his flaws under the spotlight. He took his change, slipping it into the back pocket of his trousers. He didn't have anything to say to her and she'd made it clear that she had bugger all to say to him. What was he even doing here if she wasn't going to be honest with him? It was offensive and she was wasting his time. "Tell Fergie I said hello."

He nearly apologized for Viktor breaking up with her, as if he had had anything to do with it at all. He was awfully good at pretending he didn’t know that already, anyway. That had been her least secretive relationship, her most public breakup; never mind that she was the one to bring the seeker into the conversation instead of the beater she was pretty sure he was asking about. She wasn’t about to blame herself for anything, not now. “Isn’t it?”

Honey blinked slowly as he counted out his change, apparently deciding to move on with things instead of having the nerve to ask her what he wanted to know. Did he think she was going to get offended? It might have been more offensive as it was. She held her hand out expectantly for the money and he made a point to not touch her during the exchange. She probably had no right being upset with him; he had made some sort of effort, she supposed, but when had Honey ever been reasonable about these sorts of things?

It -- not being able to have an actual conversation after a breakup -- was just one more reason why she didn’t think she was cut out for a real relationship. Too many expectations, or something. Hell, she wasn’t seeing anyone, hadn’t since the article had been printed. She was positively prudish now.

She snorted at his good. If that was what he wanted to call it, sure. She was generous enough to let him have this one.

Honey set a few coins on the countertop and slid them towards Will, careful to not cross any boundaries he apparently seemed to have now. She didn’t think she could have made this any easier for him; she was an open book (if he bothered to ask). He had seen her months before, after their breakup; he had kissed her. She was being too nice not being mad about that, never mind whatever was happening now.

“Of course.” She had zero intention of talking to her brother about this, let alone passing along Will’s greeting. “Thanks for the coffee--” that she would be throwing away as soon as he left, if she could be considerate enough to wait that long. She just barely resisted insisting that he take the fudge recipe home for his mother, some sort of effort that he have no more reason to stop at Honeydukes, but somehow she managed. She was a saint, honestly.

She was back in the kitchen -- those other two customers weren’t going to buy anything anyway -- before she heard the bell above the door chime.

Will just stared at her. He had no idea what he'd done to make this entire thing flip a complete one-eighty. But that was the thing about Honey; she made him uneasy. He hadn't been able to see it when they were dating because he'd done everything he could think of to please her but now? Had he seen the warning signs beforehand, he wouldn't have pursued her. Simple as that. He didn't like using the term dodged a bullet but when in Rome.

He'd genuinely thought he'd tried. He'd stupidly come here to make sure she was okay (of course she was), to tell her he was sorry about how he acted previously (she'd told him to stop apologising) and maybe even let her know that he was sort of dating someone new (in case she cared; she didn't.) Will was overwhelmed. He was a logical man and he liked being in control but being around her was like being flipped upside down and shaken until all of the change fell out of his pockets.

He should not have come here. It had been selfish and stupid and this time, it felt like a goodbye. Will wasn't upset; he was angry with her. The red mist descended and he was only faintly aware that his hands had balled into fists and he'd been biting down hard on the inside of his cheeks until he tasted the familiar copper tang of blood.

Honey turned and flounced off, leaving him in her cotton-candy-scented wake. He stood slack-jawed. For someone who liked to think she had her shit together, she certainly didn't seem like she did. "Unbelievable," he muttered darkly with a shake of his head as he rolled his big brown eyes Heavenward. He didn't need strength, he needed a lobotomy. Why did she always do this? She'd never let him get the last word and it always left him feeling nettled.

Quickly, he gathered up his purchases before he remembered he'd also pissed off his mother as well as Honey. If when he got home and Dave - his dog - also rejected him, it might become a bit too much for him to handle. So, they weren't friends. Great. Fine. Whatever. At least he'd tried. He was just another person she'd pushed away and he almost felt sorry for her, being so lonely up on her pedestal before he caught himself. A very small, dark part of him hoped she was lonely. It might make her realise she couldn't treat people like a game of chess because she'd get checkmated one day herself.

Will rubbed the back of his head where the start of a headache was forming. Rather than stand here looking like a lemon, he yanked open the door and pulled it roughly behind him, only growing more frustrated to know that the door was set-up on some sort of slow release mechanism. She couldn't even allow him the satisfaction of slamming the door to make a point. Honey Bea Flume was an absolute madwoman.

Once outside, Will found himself panting as anger trickled down his spine and he coughed as he took a lungful of the crisp Scottish air. In faint worry, he noticed his hands were shaking. William was not an angry person but for a split second back there, he'd genuinely wanted to throttle her and it spooked him. His mum liked Honeydukes stuff but he couldn't bring himself to gift it. Much like his ex had done with his coffee, he clumsily shoved the marshmallows into a nearby bin and almost broke his ankle on the cobblestoned hill as he practically sprinted down it and away. He'd have to buy his mum some flowers instead.