x marks the spot [honey]

“Not complaining now,” she said with a shrug, watching him drink, her own glass just shy of her lips. She shouldn’t be thinking about him, about them, but needs must; his mind must have flashed to the same sort of memories, anyway. She drank and held his gaze, almost surprised he was still so far (a few feet) away, as if he were letting her set the pace; the conversation didn’t usually last this long. It was a good thing it was — the talking — she reminded herself. That’s all that was happening here.

She nodded — a sheep, yes — and frowned — it was meaningful, damnit — and didn’t know how to explain it properly. Her idea to show him instead wasn’t well thought out but bad decisions seemed to follow after Charlie (and Charlie and Honey). On paper, all she was doing was showing him her new tattoo; it was harmless; when else would he get a chance to see it if not now? She (and the gin) knew what she was doing, anticipated him stepping closer, expected him to run his thumb over it like she had with his.

It was a slow couple of seconds; his hand was cold and she was ticklish and she thought she might have flinched but for the most part she didn’t move an inch. She eyed his smile, hoped he couldn’t feel how quickly her heart was beating -- because she knew, deep down somewhere, that lines were being crossed and not for any Charlie-specific reasons -- knew she couldn’t help how warm her cheeks felt.

“Yeah,” she agreed, not missing that that wasn’t exactly a compliment coming from him. She caught his eye -- hadn’t stopped watching him as he looked at her, really -- and swallowed. They were close, never mind the touching, close enough to-- too close. Honey pulled her hem back down, helping Charlie’s hand find its way back into his own personal space as she took a step back.

“Yeah, I--” Honey grabbed her (empty) glass and held it with both hands, leaning back against the counter again. “Really wanted a Yorkshire rose--” She didn’t bother dropping her gaze (nor did she want to) to his other arm and his tattoo-- “But the guy said those were so overdone.”

She glanced at the gin and had a (very brief) internal debate about the ‘should she or shouldn’t she’ of the situation (work to do, Charlie to not do) before she stepped around him and reached for the bottle, opting for the easier option of not thinking about it. “It’s almost gone, anyway,” she said, as if she needed a less obvious reason she wanted to keep drinking.

Honey's skin was warm and soft under his touch, the curve of her torso familiar. Charlie didn’t let go of her immediately when he finished admiring her tattoo -- nor in the moment after that, his eyes fixed on hers. He shifted his weight, just barely, ready to lean in and close the gap--

She brushed his hand aside as she pulled her jumper back down. Charlie let her step away; his head hanging as though her face were still beneath his. He chewed on his lip, lifted his chin slowly to see her safely up against the opposite counter (and not in an invitational way -- more's the pity). A wry smile stretched across his lips. “Did he.” He supposed he had to be grateful that she wasn't kicking him out -- and he wasn't stupid, she'd wanted to close that gap too, he could tell (or the wine and the gin could).

Charlie almost reached out and pulled her to him as she crossed the room, but it was a combination of her being too fast and he too slow, and some strange semblance of a moral compass that Honey had a boyfriend and the realisation that she hadn’t messed up his relationship when she’d had the chance, so really he ought to make an effort to (not) do the same for her. Who was he becoming?

He smiled again -- not that she could see -- when she felt the need to explain having another drink; he was hardly going to stop her, nor did he have any right to. Charlie came up behind the redhead, too close, took half a step back out of her space and cleared his throat quietly. “Let me help you finish it,” he offered, taking the bottle from her -- letting their fingers brush one another's, oops -- to pour them each a refill.

He handed her glass back to her -- another brief touch -- then found a spot to stand in where he was neither at risk of ruining any more chocolates nor any relationships. He drank, lowering the glass to hold it near his hip. "I like it,” he said, inclining his head towards her breast and the tattoo he now knew to be there, acting as though nothing had just happened (it hadn’t). “You know they say once you start you can’t stop,” he smirked.

“Yeah, birds and grannies, mostly.” She was grateful he was going along with what she said instead of drawing attention to that, the touching, the tension, but it was hard to make things up about his tattoo, what with the way he was still looking at her. She held his gaze for a second longer -- any more and she might regret her regret -- before she moved away, heading for the gin.

Charlie was close -- almost at an acceptable distance, for them -- when he spoke again; she supposed she had heard him move, felt him crowd her space, but she might have also expected something a little more because Charlie. She didn’t say anything as she handed him the bottle, glancing from his outstretched hand (and their fingers, touching again) to his face, nodding once. He poured her a refill -- no tonic this time -- and returned her glass; again, she looked at their hands as they touched (again) and then at the space he vacated, backing into a much more family-friendly distance.

The gin was a bad idea, Honey realized (not for the first time), her focus drawn to physical things more than usual. She held her glass in front of her, second guessing her decision to have another with Charlie there,  with Harlan not there-- with so much work to be done. She smiled, despite her cloudy thoughts and her newfound hesitation to continue their conversation. “Thanks.” He liked it, the tattoo or her tit, whichever suited the mood.

“Do they?” She’d heard that maybe, didn’t know many people with just one tattoo, but she hadn’t thought about it much. She could get another one with Grace but there wasn’t anything else she was so sure of that she would want it permanently on her; somehow she managed not to point out how some of his tattoo ideas hadn’t worked out in the end. “Have any ideas, then?”

“Right,” he rolled his eyes, a slow smile stretching across his lips. The mental imagery of his Nan with a Yorkshire rose tattooed on her amused him more than it should have.

He was doing this then? Backing off? Seemed like a waste of time – that they’d just end up back here soon enough, like they always did. That should concern him to some level -- that he was so eager to return at even the smallest whiff of an invitation – but was Honey really any different? She’d been the one to show up with no invitation, last time, and disagreements about what they should and shouldn’t be aside, it worked for them. It was about the sex and nothing else – it always had been, and that was why it was so easy.

“Welcome,” he said, before having a large swallow of his gin – forgetting he’d neglected to add tonic until it was already burning down his throat. He nodded in response to her query, not yet trusting himself to speak lest he reveal how harsh the straight gin had been on his oesophagus (Charlie drank plenty of spirits, but gin wasn’t something he ever chose for himself and it didn’t have the same warming embrace that whiskey had).

A smirk reappeared on Charlie’s features as he stared at Honey across the room. He had ideas, but even suggesting she get his name as a joke felt off (something to do with Kate already having done so and how well that had worked out). “I’ll have to think about it,” he said instead, lifting his glass to his lips once more in order to finish what was left of his gin.

Charlie coughed quietly, face turned to one side (away from the chocolates), and set his glass down on the bench, fingers still loosely wrapped around it. He glanced at Honey. “Suppose I should... leave you to it then,” he said slowly before wetting his lips, holding her gaze in anticipation of an offer to stay, have one more drink.

Charlie smirked and Honey looked literally anywhere else; she didn’t like what that look was making her think, that maybe his being there wasn’t a truly terrible idea, that one more drink wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d ever done, that-- he’d have to think about it, he said. Honey glanced back, honestly surprised he didn’t have a suggestion (or a suggestion). “Right.” She shrugged, still not touching her drink anymore than just holding it in front of her.

“You’ll have to let me know.” He didn’t have to, shouldn’t really. They were friends, though -- they’d decided that, hadn’t they? She couldn’t remember how one-sided the decision had been  -- so looking forward to hearing from him in a mostly innocent sort of way.

He finished his drink and it should have been the point she ushered him out of her shop, but Honey heistated. She hadn’t invited him in the first place, which should have been reason enough to ask him to leave; she didn’t know how to have a proper conversation with him, which should have worried her more because of what she tended to do when met with an awkward silence (and gin).

But he looked at her and spoke first; Honey nodded before she could process how unsure he was with his words. “Should do,” she said, nodding again, not dropping her gaze from his. “There’s a lot to do.” She was close to mentioning that she would be far less busy after the holiday but she managed to keep that to herself (or let him figure it out for himself, maybe).

She glanced at his glass, the nearly empty bottle of gin, back up to Charlie’s face, not as flushed as hers must have been. “Can you apparate?” A slow second passed and Charlie took half a step forward before she clarified, quickly: “Really, I mean.” That had been one of their excuses, before -- safety first, can’t drink and apparate, better to just stay over -- but she had meant it in a more genuinely concerned sort of way this time. “Can’t have your splinching on my conscience,” she finished quietly, not exactly in a hurry for him to go.

He smiled warmly at her. “Alright,” he agreed; he would let her know. He was sure between now and the next time they saw each other he could think of something stupid -- or smart -- to suggest she get permanently etched on her skin. He had to admit though, he sort of liked that she wasn’t covered in tattoos -- he could live with a miniscule sheep, he supposed.

Honey nodded and Charlie released his hold on his empty glass; hand dropping to his side, then into his pocket. There was a lot to do -- not that Charlie seriously thought Honey would be getting any more work done tonight. He did feel a little bit bad for distracting her, a little bit more for having spoiled some of the work she’d already got done. He’d offer to make it up to her, but he was too wary of being turned down.

Charlie watched the redhead look between the glass he'd just abandoned, the bottle of gin (or what little was left), and finally at him. He held her gaze -- this was his cue; he'd apparated here, of course, but that had been two (or three? He hadn't really been counting) gins ago and even then it had been risky. He moved to step closer--

His eyebrows rose in surprise. Really. Charlie paused, eyes still on Honey’s, not entirely sure he’d heard her right but he had. He ran his tongue over his teeth, behind his lips, and nodded once. “Yeah,” he murmured, trying not to look disappointed (failing). “I can apparate.” He shouldn’t. This was one of those times where he could have been honest about it, but he was backing off. Honey wasn’t ready.

Was he, if it came down to it?

Charlie cleared his throat softly, unsure how to do this: say goodbye. He lingered for a moment. Last time they’d said goodbye platonically he’d hesitated over whether or not to hug her as he would with literally anyone else he was supposed to be friends with. The time they’d left each other’s presence before that Honey had slammed his own front door in his face. Didn’t bode terribly well.

“Want me to see myself out?” he offered, his lips twisting into something between a sad and playful smile.

Yeah. Honey nodded, doing her best not to read into Charlie’s expression. It would have been easy to tell him he should stay for safety’s sake, make a joke about putting his fireplace on the floo network, offer the couch so he could sleep it off a bit; it’d be just as easy (if not easier) to say nothing at all, have him stay without any stupid excuse. She wasn’t proud of herself for thinking backup plan but the words were there, reminding her in some backwards way that he really did need to be going.

“No, I—“ she didn’t miss that he hadn’t left right away, didn’t let herself think that he was lingering to wait for her to change her mind. She wouldn’t do that, she told herself. “I should lock up.” She offered a small smile. “Don’t think I should be entertaining anymore gentlemen callers this evening.” He could apparate from the kitchen, really, but she didn’t point it out, suspected he knew that anyway. The extra ninety seconds together it’d take to head out the front door couldn’t have had anything to do with it.

Honey tipped her head in that direction, walking out of the kitchen a few steps ahead of him and finally letting go of her untouched drink as she passed the front counter. She touched a jar of caramels as she passed it, nudging it back into place, making a final attempt to keep her mind on work. It distracted her for a few seconds, anyway.

He was almost out of the store — Honey’s hand was on the door handle, anyway — when she hesitated, turning to look at him. The shop lights were out; the light from the streetlamp was warm; Charlie looked tired, a little drunk, and if she stared for too long she might start rethinking her decision to get rid of him. She pulled him into a hug before she really knew what she was doing, her arms finding that comfortable spot around his waist, maybe a little lower than where friends should be. They didn’t hug, never had a situation that called for platonic hugging and she lingered just long enough for Charlie’s arms to wrap around her, too.

“Right.” Honey took a step back and cleared her throat, reaching behind her to find the doorknob again. She looked him over one more time — ignoring how she had wanted to rest her cheek on his chest a few seconds ago — and noticed his empty hands. She cleared her throat and offered him another smile as she pulled the door open softly. “Thanks for the wine.” She stepped aside and gave him plenty of room to head out the door.

[[ out ]]

No, I— Charlie lifted his head an inch, hanging on the end of whatever it was Honey was about to say. He was left disappointed, again, when it became apparent that she wasn’t changing her mind about his leaving. He nodded, then smirked softly. “You calling me a gentleman?” he teased.

She motioned towards the door and he followed her, his eyes more focused on the back of her head rather than her backside for once. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d struck out with Honey, of all people. She was pretty much a sure thing – but, he reasoned, he’d backed off, so he hadn’t really failed. Or so he would tell himself. The fact that she was the second woman within a week to turn him down was niggling at him, though—

They were at the door before Charlie had too long to overanalyse his inability to convince someone to sleep with him. He looked at Honey, she looked at him, and then her arms were around him before he could react. His first instinct had been that she was lunging at him in a moment of weakness, but her head was tucked beneath his – her mouth out of reach.

After a brief moment of hesitation – mostly just being caught off guard – Charlie’s arms wrapped around Honey automatically. He couldn’t remember ever hugging her before – not like this. It didn’t last long enough for him to be able to work out if it was too weird to be enjoyable. Honey stepped back and cleared her throat and Charlie did the same. “Yeah, thanks,” he said, then; “I mean, you’re welcome.” He smiled awkwardly, cheeks warming. Christ. “See you,” he mumbled, touching his fingers against hers briefly on the way out before shoving his hands in his pockets.

He disappeared around the corner and gave himself a minute before apparating back to London.


END