on the way [kate]

She wondered if he’d forgotten how tall she was when he took issue with her being full already, but she gave him a funny smile regardless. His disappointment wasn’t malicious, she knew that simply based on the interactions she’d had with him before, and he seemed eager to impress her with his food.

Food was always a quick way to develop and maintain bonds--her family thought so, anyway. Food was also a way to apologize, serve, and mend. Whatever needed mending could be fixed, almost all of the time, with a good taco, laden with guacamole and extra-spicy salsa. The other very small percentage which couldn’t be fixed with comfort food would be described very succinctly in two words: her life.

Her life was a mess, for sure, but Kate was enjoying listening to Noah talk about his past instead of lamenting her missteps with Emma and watching Emma drink wine she didn’t even like in an obligatory sort of manner with a concerned look on her face.

“Do you like it here or there better?” She asked him cautiously, eyes drifting toward his hands as he opened each cabinet, and the really nimble, long fingers attached to them. Kate had a weird thing for hands; she didn’t trust men who had pudgy little digits and squatty palms. Given, she also liked tall, skinny men instead of really built ones so----

Screech. To a halt. Focus on his back, that’s boring, right? But backs without shirts could be so great, and she hadn’t had sex in awhile, and----

Jesus. She was disgusting.

He distracted her again by loudly motioning against her walking home, which she’d certainly accept for an answer. If he wanted her to hang around that badly, even if it was just until she wasn’t drunk anymore and could get herself home, she wasn’t going to protest and distress him further(this was the only reason she felt like staying, of course). “Alright,” She said softly, assenting to his insistence.

The tequila came out not a moment later and Kate didn’t know whether to relax her shoulders or feel a bunch of snakes slithering around in her stomach. It should have made her nervous that she wanted so badly to sit around and drink with Noah more (of course his insisting she shouldn’t walk home wasn’t the only reason she wanted to be here), but it didn’t. He didn’t creep her out, he didn’t stink of malicious intent, and he had a family and real friends and a real job.

“Ah. Definitivamente, si.”  Kate nodded against her better judgment, and hopped down from her place at the bar to go and take a seat on the couch. “Come over here with me?” She asked, “Bring some glasses and whatever you want to chase with, if you do that,”  Kate’s hand patted the cushion next to her vigorously in encouragement.

“Good.” Not that he wanted to tell her what to do but… he kind of did when it came to not letting her walk home alone drunk. Was she drunk? Tipsy. About to get tipsier.

“Uh, sí was the limit of my Spanish,” he grinned awkwardly, his cheeks flushing lightly pink. “Sounds like a yes, though?” Kate hopped down from the stool she’d been perched on and led herself into the living area. Noah stood there -- still on the other side of the counter -- like an idiot for a minute as she instructed him to get glasses and join her. “Yeah,” he nodded, “right.” He turned and found two glasses -- not shot glasses, so they’d have to just use their best judgement -- and then hesitated on whether he ought to have a chaser. Would she think less of him if he needed one and she didn’t? He looked in the fridge. Milk didn’t sound like a great follow-up for tequila so he supposed that answered that question.

He sauntered over to the couch, casually he thought, and sat on the cushion she’d picked out for him. He fussed with opening the bottle and pouring them each a serve before holding her glass out to her, her dainty fingers brushing over his longer, tattooed digits.

Noah blanked. What were they meant to do now? Talk, obviously, but about what? Oh, she’d asked him if he liked it here or there better. “I don’t know,” he said aloud, then remembered she couldn’t read his mind to tell he’d picked up their conversation pre-tequila discovery; “which I like better,” he added, tipping his head back to down his first shot. He shook his head once sharply as it made its way down his throat.
 
“New York has this… I dunno, like this buzz. It’s always awake.” He glanced at her, closer now than the breakfast counter had allowed them to be. She had no makeup on and he could see the freckles across her nose and cheeks. He cleared his throat. “London’s similar, I guess, but there’s definitely like, a bedtime.” He smirked softly. “Pros and cons, I think. My family are back there, obviously, I… already told you that, but,” he reached forward to top up his glass, “I think the friends I’m making here are better for me, you know?”

“What about you?”

He came back with glasses--normal ones--and no chaser. Kate was impressed, because he’d certainly given her the idea he didn’t drink much the first time they’d had any kind of conversation. Not that she blamed him, of course, and it seemed to her like he had other preferred methods of winding down and relaxing. Acceptable in its own right, and something Kate had become increasingly interested in to ease some of her pain. Her therapist would almost positively tell her these weren’t good coping mechanisms, but she could think of worse ones, believe it or not.

Their eyes locked for a second, and Kate felt a mysterious, quick little link between them, broken by his fingers touching hers when he passed her a glass with tequila already in it. She followed his lead and took her tequila at nearly the same time, only catching a glimpse of the face he pulled straight afterward.

“That bad?” She grinned with almost secondhand embarrassment--not because she found it to be terrible he was reacting that way, but because she’d been there many a time herself. People drank so much more here, in England, than they did at home. At home was a vast descriptor, because she could have been meaning the United States or Mexico or California or San Diego, but all that was too much thinking for her at the moment.

The direction of his gaze was all over the place, and Kate wondered if she looked kind of creepy by maintaining a more consistent stare toward him, but she found him to be fascinating. He was charismatic, friendly and kind, but not in a way that made her think he was a chauvinist or a womanizer. Rather, these qualities of his seemed genuine and real, as opposed to a fabrication that were means to an end.

Kate poured some more tequila into her cup, an approximation of a double this time, and made an interesting face herself as the liquor burned down her throat and into her chest. “I think I’ll stop for now,” She commented under her breath before he could. It was quiet, but likely loud enough for him to hear--she’d migrated closer in the time he’d been speaking to sit nearer to him.

“I would say that’s true, though. New York has a little bit more zest for life. People are more… I don’t know. Cinched up in their straitjackets here.” Prim and proper and boring. Perhaps that was why English people relied more heavily on alcohol to provide them with their fun. Kate realized she was being a hypocrite as soon as this thought crossed her mind, though, because wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing?

“Why do you think the friends here are better for you?” She was slurring just a hair, and Kate closed her eyes to reopen them much wider as she started again. “Sorry, I’m drunk,” Her clarification came across as though she didn’t think it was obvious enough already. “Me, though? I don’t really know. I spend most of my time in California when I’m in the States now, New York was like a. Temporary thing. I definitely enjoy the weather there more, but I think there’s more appreciation for fine art in London.”

Noah coughed softly. “No, it’s—” He caught her expression and grinned, rosy cheeked. “Just not my usual,” he said, rather than telling the truth -- which was that he tended not to drink, finding it to bring out emotions he’d rather keep in. Smoking was safer, for him, more relaxing. If he was going to drink it was at a slower pace than the English friends he’d made. He’d have to replace this tequila before Emma noticed, anyway.

Even as he glanced around the room Noah was acutely aware of Kate’s eyes on him -- or he assumed, anyway. Her head was pointed in his direction and it made his chest feel a little tighter, his body temperature a little warmer. Merlin knew what state he’d be in if he hadn’t been smoking before she’d arrived. He knocked back his second drink and realised belatedly that he’d done so in sync with Kate downing hers. He blinked through the bite of the alcohol and nodded. “Yeah, me too,” he agreed, glad for the excuse to put his glass down on the coffee table. He immediately regretted doing so when he sat back, because now he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands; he gripped his thighs, lest he fidget.

“Right?” he laughed, then felt a bit bad for doing so. “I mean, not everyone—” he was mainly thinking about, like, Emma, and maybe a few of the guys from work, “— but definitely… everyone takes things more seriously until it’s like, five o’clock in the pub,” he said, affecting an East London accent (sort of...) on the last few words. “They loosen up after a couple of rounds,” he added, as if he needed to explain the intricacies of English society to her.

He sat up straighter -- or just straightened his back where he’d been hunched over to feel a little closer to her (she was so tiny). “Uhh,” he thought aloud, his mouth ajar. Before he could actually answer her, Kate announced her lack of sobriety. Noah smirked. “Really?” He bit his lip, half-hiding a grin. “I dunno, the people back home just… they were good friends, you know? But they weren’t doing anything with their lives. I wasn’t…” Still wasn’t, really, but he was getting a hunger to do more, since being here. “The people I’ve met here, they’re not content to just sit around and exist. I think it’s, maybe because of what they’ve been through, you know?” he asked, referencing the war he’d heard so much but still knew so little about.

“I’d love to see California one day, it sounds sick.” He smiled easily at her, genuinely keen on seeing the golden state -- when he could afford it. “Is uhh,” he rubbed at the side of his neck, “fine art, that… something you’re into?” He asked uncertainly -- what was ‘fine’ art? Was it different to regular art? He’d have to ask Emma or something when she got home.

Giggles bubbled out of her mouth, genuine and giddy, when his very, very poor imitation of what an English person might sound like graced her ears. “Aye, so I’m not the only one who likes to do an English accent, wee chap.” Most of her friends were surprisingly good-natured when she made fun of the way they sounded, and even if it was a slight chip on their shoulder, she made sure to indulge them by listening to their twangy American accents, too. Usually the valley-girl specific caricatures were complete with smatterings of the word “like”.

Not content to just sit around and exist. That turned wheels in Kate’s brain, and she nodded at Noah. She understood what he was saying--not because she’d been here for the wizarding war that had torn apart families, schools, governments, and blood statuses--but because she’d been here to witness much of the aftermath. She remembered meeting Charlie when he’d fled to the United States with Banshee. What would have happened if none of the war had ever gone on, and if nothing regarding his bloodstatus (an arbitrary trait, as far as Kate was concerned) had ever been an issue? A strange chill crept its way up her spine.

“California is awesome,” Kate admitted. “The greenery is very different there, as in, we don’t have any. Except like, shrubbery and palms.” She beamed. Rocks were a staple in people’s yards instead of grass, and whenever there was a drought things were notably dusty, but it was home. Its beauty lay in other areas, and Kate actually felt blessed to be able to say she knew both London and San Diego pretty well. “But the ocean is beautiful. Lots of gorgeous beaches, rocks, natural wonders… vegan markets,” She added aggressively at the end with a knowing smirk and a tiny quirk of her eyebrow. “You seem like you’d be into like. The gourmet small-batch food scene.”

He was a chef, dumbass, of course he would be.

“Yes, like. Music apart from… pop and rock. Painting, drawing, theatre, dancing… New York has some appreciation for that,” Kate nodded again toward him and glanced toward the bottle of tequila to see if there was any left. No. Bad. “But I think it’s more mainstream here.”

After another second of comfortable silence, she squinted her eyes as if in pensive thought, “You know, I’m kinda tired.”

Wee chap. Noah sniggered, perhaps a little long for how funny it actually was, thanks to the after effects of the weed he’d been smoking, and the wine, and the tequila. So much for a quiet night in by himself -- not that he was complaining. And this was still quiet, really.

“Yeah?” He’d pretty much only heard good things about California, but the greenery he’d been told about probably wasn’t the kind she was referring to. He grinned. “Well, you know, New York is super green,” he teased, thinking about the Manhattan skyline and the concrete-lined streets. It wasn’t all grey, though; graffiti and street art and neon signs lighting up drab corners in a way that he missed. And there was Central Park, for actual greenery, he supposed, which probably made up for the lack of it everywhere else. And Staten Island wasn’t so built up, which his Mom always told him was a good thing.

“I guess there is some green in New York, just, you know, not really my shtick. Not that kind anyway.” He smirked. “I like cactuses and succulents,” he mused, thinking of his window sill collection, “but I don’t think they really count as ‘green’—” air quotes “—And then, you know,” he pulled a face (mostly a smirk) and nodded his head at the stubbed out joint he’d been smoking when she’d turned up.

“Vegan markets,” he repeated with a quirked brow, smirking wider as she said he seemed the type to be into the gourmet small-batch food scene. “Uh huh,” he let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve never really cooked gourmet,” he emphasised the word, “maybe one day. I haven’t actually hit up the markets, I usually just sleep in on the weekends,” he admitted. She didn’t need to know why. “I’ve heard they’re good,” he added awkwardly, drawing a shape on his knee.

“So like heavy metal?” he joked with an easy grin. “Rap?” He nudged her elbow gently then wondered where the confidence to do that had come from. He cleared his throat. “I’m kidding, I know you mean like.. classic. Opera and shit.” His eyes grew a little wide. “Not that it’s shit, I just— never really listened to it.” He chewed on his bottom lip to shut himself up for a minute, deciding to just nod along—

Tired -- he wondered if she really was or if she was just tired of him (he had that effect on people, it seemed). “Uh, right.” He looked around, as if Emma or Harri would miraculously appear at this moment to offer one of their beds to stay in or something (girls were allowed to share a double without getting any weird looks, he’d learnt). “Uh, you, probably shouldn’t like, apparate or walk...” he trailed off, Kate’s eyes already drooping confirming his thoughts. He got up from the sofa and scratched at the back of his neck. Then his elbow. Fidgeting. “I could, uhh, get you a blanket and a pillow and you could stay here?”

I like cactuses and succulents, he said. Kate found that endearing. “I like cactuses--cacti?” She pulled a face as she questioned the right term, and then gestured as though to wave the notion away. Both versions were ridiculous, so it didn’t really matter, did it? “Mexico has sooo many of them,” She was a little embarrassed at herself, languishing on vowels and extending them like an inexperienced drunk girl exactly would. “But, um.” She muttered in a much quieter tone for filler, “I do. Love them. Especially when they flower.”

Kate had a hard time sleeping in, and until recently, she’d had a hard time sleeping for lots of consecutive hours in general. Charlie had turned her onto taking naps, and while she had a vast appreciation for them now, the only approved siestas in her home that weren’t regarded as wasteful were the ones everyone took on Sundays after weekly family gatherings. “No shame in that,” She told him, because based on the way his tone dropped off at the end, it sounded like he was reluctant to tell her. Not that he was obligated to tell her anything at all--they barely knew one another. It was nice that both of them seemed interested in changing that.

She smiled at him, feeling oddly carefree for a moment, as they joked around about obscure genres of music and he poked her with his elbow. “I actually don’t mind rap--my sister loves Mexican and Spanish rap, and she’s a ballet dancer, so. You never know.” Kate cleared her throat. “Can’t really say that I’ve listened to that much heavy metal, buuuut. First time for everything.” Including spending time with a man and not feeling pressured for sex in the first thirty minutes. “I think with opera it’s like. You have to know the meaning behind what they’re--singing, to really appreciate it.”

Probably shouldn’t apparate or walk. He was probably correct about that, but if push came to shove, she could do it. Kate didn’t really think that Emma would care if she stayed, and she was sure her friend would prioritize her safety over a minor inconvenience, but she didn’t want to impose upon Noah because she’d gotten too wasted to take care of herself.

“Oh, I. Don’t want to bother you,” Kate shook her head, even though her eyelids felt heavy and plopping her head on a cushy pillow sounded extra nice right now, “I could just. Have a tiny snooze, and then when I wake up I can. Be right out of your hair,” She nodded curtly as if to strongly punctuate her sentiment. Kate didn’t think she seemed all that resolute, but maybe it would help him to think she wasn’t a mooch. Her entire body was drooping to the side as she stayed propped up on her elbow, and she yawned noisily. “Oops. Sorry, excuse me. I’m being terrible.”

Cacti. Duh, of course. Why was he so stupid? “Right, yeah,” he replied, more muted, only glancing back at Kate after she kept speaking -- grateful that she wasn’t focusing on how moronic he was. Noah smiled smally. “Yeah, they’re really pretty,” he said, staring at her without realising it for a moment— Looking away sharply, cheeks flushing, when he did. If they weren’t like, alone, and -- he was pretty sure -- on the drunker end of the scale, he might’ve offered to show her his collection— But how lame was that? Showing her his bedroom windowsill full of cactuses -- cacti -- and succulents? Kate was way too clever and successful (and hot) to find his little hobby even remotely interesting.

“I—” He chewed on his bottom lip, avoiding her gaze again -- focusing on his lap -- and nodding once. He smiled then and shrugged, trying to move past something he’d brought up himself (so dumb). “Just long hours, weird shifts, you know,” he said, fidgeting with his hands; cracking his knuckles. She probably already thought he was a basketcase, didn’t need to scare her off by revealing just how much of one he actually was.

His fluctuating moods -- around her, especially -- not doing him any favours.

Noah’s eyebrows rose in unison. “Really?” He hadn’t picked her as being into rap, at all. Anything other than pop, if he was being honest. He guessed that was unfair of him to assume -- to judge her based on her appearance, if he was really being honest about what he was doing. He laughed, somewhat nervously, wary of being called out for it. “Well, I only listen to the heavy stuff when I’m trying to sleep,” he joked, eager to move past it; more like when he was trying to block everything out. He preferred hip hop for everyday listening. Or power ballads. “You mean like understand Italian or whatever?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with one hand. He wasn’t about to pretend he understood more than the basics. “Yeah, maybe.”

He didn’t want to push the issue, but he didn’t want Kate apparating like this -- especially because (from what he’d heard) she lived alone (now) and so there was nobody at the other end to make sure she hadn’t splinched herself. Unless she left like, her arm behind or something. He grimaced softly at the thought.

“What?” He snapped his head to look at her. “No, it’s— It’s fine, really.” He shook his head, half-shrugging. “I’d prefer it.” Noah’s eyes grew wide. “I mean— It’s safer, right? Than going off like…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll go get...” he trailed off, turning on his heel and going to find a clean blanket (sniff test) and a pillow (took a minute to wrestle a fresh pillowcase onto it). By the time he came back Kate looked like she was already asleep; eyes closed, cheek smushed up against her arm. Noah glanced around before approaching quietly. He dropped the pillow to the floor to be able to drape the blanket over her, tucking her in carefully. Kate stirred and Noah froze, acutely aware of the way he was leering over her. “Um, lift your— Yeah,” he smiled when she raised her head enough for him to get the pillow under.

Noah lingered for a moment before retreating, turning lights off on the way to his bedroom. ”Goodnight.” He turned back, one hand on the wall to the hallway. “Night.”

[ out ]

Kate frowned slowly as her befuddled brain tried to piece together the things Noah was saying. She was feeling way drunker as sleepiness took hold, and she was simultaneously finding it much more difficult to keep her eyes open or her words focused. Italian? Where had that come from? Oh, opera. “No I don’t mean, like, every word, just.” She swallowed and licked her lips languidly. Words were hard.

“The general meanings behind the songs or the show, or. Like just having enough context to get it,” Kate paused to blink (because blinking needed its own pause right now) and when she reopened her eyes, felt like they were veering in completely different directions.

She shut them again, almost immediately, as her head swam and a wave of nausea swirled around in her gut. If she just laid still, for a minute, she could probably avoid the worst of it. She was passing the fun part of being drunk and descending into precipitous territory. Tiny snores mixed in with her breathing and Kate heard Noah talking next to her, but she didn’t process any of it. The couch wasn’t as comfortable as her bed, but he was right--she couldn’t see herself successfully transporting home without major assistance, and if she stayed here, maybe that would be slightly less burdensome for Noah and Emma.

Kate felt herself being jostled around by an unknown force and, amidst the space between sleeping and waking, allowed that benevolent entity to continue in covering her with a blanket. She cooed under her breath and opened her eyes when she heard a man’s voice--Noah’s--and said “Ooooh, thank youuu,” only slightly embarrassed afterward that the processor between her brain and mouth seemed to be out of commission.

“Goodnight,” Kate managed to tell him before the light she could still see past her eyelids went away, and heard him pad down the hallway.

[ out ]