peach sky [will]

7 June 2003

She didn’t think it was about revenge, not really. She and Harlan had broken up -- through no fault of her own -- and she was still mad at him, at the situation, at the whole thing (despite the smallest part of her insisting this was for the best and an even smaller part suggesting she was blowing it out of proportion) but she wasn’t trying to get back at him. It had taken Honey some time to piece it together but Will had said he was dating a professor at Beauxbatons and the professor she had met at Harlan’s match -- Harlan’s ‘family friend’ -- had said she was dating a publisher who didn’t care too much for quidditch so…

Honey’s boyfriend had snogged Will’s girlfriend and unlike Harlan, Will was too good for words and he deserved better. He had deserved better than Honey, deserved better than Bérénice -- that had been the whole (almost) reason Honey had broken up with him in the first place, hadn’t it? She hadn’t wanted this to happen to him again, and it probably would have had he stayed together with Honey. She didn’t think it would -- and involve Harlan again, no less -- after she had excused herself from their relationship.

She had more or less convinced herself she was being the better person here by telling Will what she had learned a few days ago. Any side effects -- Will ending his relationship with Bérénice, for one -- only lingered at the back of her mind, the slightest glimmer of a bright side.

So she’d sent him a note earlier that day, something along the lines of ‘sorry for the last minute invite but drinks?’ with a time and a place -- that pub around the corner from his place where she’d beaten him at darts -- and every intent to sound casual. It wasn’t; casual, that is. Honey arrived an hour early, not dressed particularly casual, but it was nearly summer and sundresses had to be acceptable this far south, right?

Honey perched on a barstool at a hightop toward the side of the pub, with a clear view of the door. She’d nearly finished her (double) gin and lemonade when she saw him, not quite as early as she had been but still half an hour too prompt. She straightened up on her stool and lifted her hand in a small wave, offering a smaller smile, convincing herself one more time that this was in his best interest.

She wasn’t planning on wasting any time, just wanted to get to the point, but-- Will looked good. She didn’t think it was the gin or her newly single status influencing her decision, either. A haircut, maybe. Still, she finished her drink, just in case, before sliding off her stool to offer him a hug hello and a very brief excuse for the last minute invite: “I was in the city, seeing Fergie.” She figured she might see her brother eventually, so she wasn’t technically lying.       

“Can I buy you a drink?” Honey resumed her seat and offered him a grin, knowing he’d insist on getting his own. She headed him off: “Late birthday present.” She’d sent him enough bonfire toffee to last him the rest of the year for his actual birthday but she wasn’t keen to ruin the mood with the real reason she had invited him. Not so soon, anyway, and not without another drink.

@William Dasher

For someone so elegant and well-read, it was an uncreative reason.

 It's not you, it's me, the traditional excuse was paper thin and mildly offensive. Will sat on his sofa, his limbs oddly numb as he fixated on the same spot on the wall he had been for almost an hour. There was a tear in the wallpaper he hadn't noticed before and now he couldn't see anything but that. He needed to redecorate, he'd decided, and he'd start tomorrow. If he could move.

Will blinked quickly and let out a groan of pain as he stretched out his legs, pain rushing in to meet him as he forgot he'd been sitting hunched since the moment she walked out of the door. How dare she? How bloody dare she do that here? In his home, in his space, she'd desecrated his sanctuary. She could have invited him out on a walk or for coffee and broken his heart in neutral ground but no, the one time she'd made the effort to come from France had been to break up with him.

His left leg jiggled anxiously as he chewed on his lip, his anger and annoyance rising with each slow tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Bérénice   had touched everything in here, her soft hands grazing his personal belongings and he forced himself to swallow. She'd seen the photos of him when he was younger, arms around his siblings as they wore matching jumpers and smiles. She'd read his books on art on his nightstand. She'd had tea from his mugs and left the imprint of her lipstick on them. She'd shared his bed, soft sheets tangled around her long legs --

The publisher stood up sharply, wobbling as the blood rushed to his head and he gripped the arm of the sofa. Everything needed to go. He needed her, everything about her, out of his home. Now. He headed into the kitchen and pulled a binbag out of the cupboard. The letters she'd sent to him were unceremoniously scrunched and shoved with force into the bottom of the bag, followed by the postcards she'd sent that he'd pinned to the fridge.

Like a bull in a china shop, Will stormed around his apartment, throwing things into the bag of rubbish. The cushions they'd picked out in Chatoeil, in the bin. The scarf she'd left on the handle of the door, followed suit. The potted plant she'd bought him was dropped to the floor with a dull clang! Photographs, that expensive tea she liked, travel guides, all of it. In the bedroom, he stripped his bed. He gritted his teeth as he pulled at the sheets, the mattress putting up a fight and straining against his weight. Anger swelled in his chest as he cheeks turned red, growing more and more frustrated as he gave the sheet one last pull and let out an uncharacteristic roar of exasperation.

The pillows were on the floor, the sheet and duvet now draped over the side as he collapsed on the mattress with his head in his hands. Will leaned forward, chest rising and falling thinly as he gripped his hair, forcing himself to breathe. His head was pounding and he could feel the blood coursing through his veins as he panted. There was a ringing in his ears. He took a minute as the raw emotion rolled off him in waves before he made himself get up. Calmly, the bed was stripped and the sheets folded and placed into the binbag as he replaced them with fresh ones, taking his time to plump the pillows, looking up only as he heard a tap on his window and then everything shifted.

Honey wanted to meet for drinks and he'd barely finished the letter before he was out of the door and heading to the pub. Will slicked his hair back, skin still tingling and cheeks flushed as he tried to inhale the warm, sticky London air as he adjusted the buttons on his pale blue shirt and finding no relief in either action. He remembered the pub and her choice of venue was both comforting and close to where he lived. Honey was great.

Honey saw him before he saw her. The hug was a surprise but welcome and he was slow to return it. He dropped his arms to her waist as he hugged her back, a little tighter and a little longer before they parted. "How is he?" Will asked, happy to focus on Honey's brother than the fucking trainwreck of his entire existence. He was always happy to chat about Fergie.

Honey offered to buy him a drink and he frowned, dropping into the stool next to her before managing to offer her a smile of thanks. "Just a pint, please," he announced to the barmaid who then asked what he wanted a pint of. The tall man just offered her a tired smile. "I honestly don't care," he said but not unkindly as a glass was set in front of him and he promptly drank half of it, not even tasting the ale. "I'm fine," Will announced suddenly before he realised the redhead hadn't even asked him anything. "I mean, are you okay?"

“He’s alright,” Honey said, distracted. It wasn’t like she had been starved for physical touch the past few days — Grace had agreed to stay with her even though her business at Hogwarts was through — but she didn’t fail to notice how he lingered in the hug (and she didn’t totally mind, either) and she was left wondering after he had pulled away. “Work’s picking up,” she added absently, resuming her seat; summer was a busy time for her brother, but that wasn’t very relevant.

He frowned but stopped short of refusing her offer to buy him a drink, accepting her sham of an excuse with a belated smile. She didn’t think much of Will’s non-order and ordered herself another of the same -- the double gin lemonade, not a bartender’s-choice beer -- but avoided jumping into conversation right away. She had planned to tell him what she knew and even though she had decided to hold off on that a little bit, the decision didn’t suddenly make her any better at small talk with an ex.

But orders were slow or service was fast; the waitress returned with their drinks before Honey had too much time to rethink telling him anything at all. She had barely pulled her drink toward her before Will had set in on his, draining half his glass as she watched him with eyebrows raised. The situation might have been a little awkward -- they had exchanged a few letters the past few months but the last time they had properly seen each other was that impromptu coffee date in Diagon Alley months ago -- but the lack of conversation wasn’t so awkward to warrant that kind of drinking.

“I’m fine,” she said, with half a laugh. Will being weird about things wasn’t new, but she thought they were past that. She picked up her own drink moving the straw aside, took two large swallows; it was cold and the gin hit the back of her throat unpleasantly and she grimaced as she glanced back over at him. She turned in her seat to face him a little better, get a better look at him.

“I’m not in the city to see Fergie,” she started, backtracking on her excuse from a few minutes ago. She kept one hand on her glass and the other in her lap as she shrugged lightly. “Just wanted to see you.” She probably should have asked if he was really fine -- because he sure didn’t seem like he was -- but it was easier to head toward distracting him from whatever it was, buy herself more time before the real real reason she wanted to see him.

Fergie was alright. Honey was fine. He nodded, still a bit jittery. Will had never been a good liar and he usually took pride in that but when with Honey, his poker face was a dreary mess. "Sorry," he added sheepishly with another smile. "Rough morning," hence why he was downing pints in the sunny afternoon. The phrase get your shit together bumped around his head and it wasn't like this was the first time he'd been dumped - he was basically a professional.

Will finished his pint and didn't taste it. He quickly ordered another as he debated on whether he should jump on Honey's band wagon and grab a gin. In his peripherals, he saw the redhead turn to face him and he followed suit, not wanting to be rude as he smiled back, crossing one long leg over the other.

His features creased as she spoke. "You're not?" Will asked her dumbly, wondering if the lager had gone straight to his head and he'd misheard her. He sipped at his pint, cold and slightly sweet as he looked at her before she spoke again.

Swiftly, his heart flipped in his chest, similar to that strangely pleasant feeling a person got whooshing down a rollercoaster. It had been a long time since Honey had made him feel like that. It was an unwanted trip down memory lane that was both comforting and jarring. "Oh, well, that's nice," he answered her as two spots of colour emerged high on his cheeks as he blushed. Was he allowed to enjoy that? Or was it wildly inappropriate? This wasn't Honey flirting. If Honey flirted, even he could sense it.

Will smiled again. "It's really nice to see you," he added quickly, genuinely. The old pub was starting to fill up as day drinkers filtered through the doors. He was distracted as he looked around. The warmness and noise were comforting but not enough to drown out the day's events. "You could have --" stopped by my place he was about to say but then Honey would have met his recent ex-girlfriend on the steps. He frowned and scratched his nose.

He was jealous of Honey and also embarrassed because she seemed so sure of herself and it wasn't an easier pill to swallow now that they weren't dating. "Can I buy you a drink? I'll buy you a drink," he ploughed on before stopping. "After you've finished that one, of course." Of course. You're a tit, the voice in the back of his head told him. Will realised he was suddenly tense and he forced himself to relax as best he could, reaching out to touch Honey's elbow gently. "Thanks," he said gently. "I really needed to see a familiar face today," he added with a tired smile as he drank.

Honey shrugged off his apology, deciding to move past it without calling attention to it -- ‘have you considered not apologizing for everything?’ was on the tip of her tongue but she held back -- by having another sip of her drink.

She shook her head, told him she was here to see him. She watched him as he considered this; it was easy to get lost looking at his face, the dimples she knew were there somewhere, the little creases at the corners of his eyes. But: that’s nice, he said. Honey pulled herself together and stopped staring so blatantly, nodding her head a little. “Yeah.” That -- the ‘I’m here to see you -- could generally elicit a more positive response, but then again, she knew who she was dealing with; she’d have to be much more direct if she wanted to distract him from whatever was already distracting him.

He smiled; Honey added another, “Yeah,” with a smile of her own. “Should have done this sooner,” she added with a nod, still not taking her eyes off of him. Of course, seeing Will any sooner might have complicated things more -- her just friends excuse had been wearing thin -- but that was beside the point.

She could have-- “What?” Will frowned and Honey leaned forward a little, her elbow resting on the table. She could have given him more warning, rather than a few hours notice, could have picked more neutral ground than a pub so close to his flat, could have never decided that telling him his girlfriend had kissed another man.

Honey bit her bottom lip and nodded, straightening back up on her stool.

He offered to buy her a drink and she was halfway to nodding before he finished his thought. She glanced at her drink -- it was only about half full now, once you discounted the ice -- and shrugged, looking back at him only to have to glance down again, this time at her elbow, his light -- but comforting -- touch. She looked at him again, shrugging one shoulder -- so he had no reason to think she was shrugging off his hand -- as she smiled. “Glad I could help.” And she meant it, she thought.

She didn’t want to add to any of his whatever; she definitely couldn’t tell him about Harlan and his girlfriend now. It probably shouldn’t have taken her so long to think that maybe that was the whole reason he was down, but in that very brief conversation she’d had with her, she hadn’t really struck Honey as a particularly nice person. Not nice enough for Will anyway (and she thought she knew better than most what sort of woman he deserved).

Honey wrapped her hand around her glass and lifted it to her lips; she finished it in a few swallows and set the empty glass on the table between them. “You’re having gin this round,” she said, telling him rather than asking -- though her hand on his knee might have been her trying to encourage him to go along with her idea -- before moving to get the waitress’s attention.

“So what’s wrong, then?” She hadn’t meant to ask so soon, but the waitress was busy and Honey didn’t think they’d be getting new drinks all too quick.

Honey said she should have come to see him sooner and he smiled again, genuine and easy. "I should have come to see you, too," Will added quickly, eager for her to know she needn't continually go above and beyond. Honeydukes held a weird vibe for him now. Since the last time he was there but it was also Honey's place of work and her home. How many lines could he cross at once? "Thank you," he added gently. "It's really nice to see you," he said as he looked at her properly before he gave her a grin. "You have this amazing ability to be around just when I need you."

And he'd just said too much.

Honey gently prodded him and he cleared his throat, uncomfortable and feeling worse. "I just meant that you could have called past. My place, I mean. If you wanted to." Internally, he cringed. "Dave would love to see you," he blabbered, blaming the poor dog. "I love this pub though," he smiled as he looked around. To anyone else, this was an "old man's pub". "Dated", some might say but he preferred to use the word "traditional".

His big brown eyes widened as Honey sculled her drink, half in mild horror and half in admiration. "Gin it is," Will answered, a rush of affection for the woman next to him coming in from left field. The warmth of her hand on his knee finally filtrated and he didn't ask her to move it. A knee was a pretty safe place to be touched, like a shoulder or a knee. A thigh might have been a whole other ball game.

Will accidentally zoned out as he watched the waitress, the swish of her brown ponytail as the chatter and clinking of glasses around him became soothing instead of jarring. Honey's voice also filtered through and he wasn't aware he was frowning.

"Oh," he blinked. "Bérénice just broke up with me." Saying it out loud made him feel infinitely worse. If he was honest, he wasn't really sure what to feel. It was a toxic cocktail of upset, anger, humiliation and betrayal. "She didn't even give me a chance to say anything," he added morosely. Honey knew he liked to talk about things. "She said there was someone else but she wouldn't tell me who," Will began as he chewed on his thumbnail, overthinking things again.

"Can you believe that?" He asked the redhead, snorting derisively. Anxiety crept in at the edges and he picked up a beer mat, shredding it like a particularly bewildered hamster. "Or maybe you can," Will answered as he offered Honey a smile that was soft. She and his ex were nothing alike. Honey was vivacious. Bright and effervescent, neon in the dark.  Bérénice was...beige in comparison.


Honey had changed him and for the better.  Bérénice hadn't altered his life in any way, except making him realise he was shit at giving gifts. But weren't relationships supposed to do that? Make you better? "The signs were there," he began, his jaw set. "They honestly were. I was too stupid to see it. Hindsight is a wonderful thing," he sighed heavily, adjusting his glasses. He flicked his eyes to Honey. "I don't know how I feel," he admitted but he did know he deserved better. "A bit daft, mainly," he concluded. "I threw all of her stuff in a bin bag," he told Honey with a light smile. "I'm thinking about having a sacrificial bonfire."

“Gin it is,” she repeated, her thumb tracing little circles on his knee. He looked away and she moved her hand, wrapping it around her (still empty) glass instead. She glanced at the waitress one more time before Will spoke and Honey refocused her gaze on him, repeating his, “Oh.” She said it somewhere between relief and excitement but with a touch of sympathy; she might have sounded more excited than anything, but he didn’t seem like he had noticed anyway.

Bérénice had broken up with him; just had, in fact. She swallowed hard, grateful that he had chosen that moment to look away from her. Honey knew who it was, had come here with every intention to tell him, too. Then again, this specific someone else wasn’t necessarily Harlan; why should his (ex-)girlfriend limit herself to only one someone else? But who was she kidding. It was Harlan. It was always going to be Harlan.

Will had been thinking the same thing, more or less, anyway, first asking if she could believe that, then saying that she could. He smiled -- it didn’t reach his eyes -- and Honey glanced away, sucking in her lips and searching for the waitress, either for more gin or for the check if they were going to get into all that. Honey had never told Will about her kissing Harlan when they were dating, and while she had always maintained that kissing wasn’t cheating (ha!) this probably wasn’t the best time to ask him to clarify what exactly he knew.

She looked back at him when he started talking again, saying the signs were there. Was he still talking about his most recent ex or Honey? She decided he wasn’t talking about her after another couple of seconds and she smiled sadly when she caught his eye. Fuck, she couldn’t tell him about Harlan now, didn’t want to kick him while he was down -- never mind that half of it probably traced back to how Honey had behaved during their relationship -- and maybe he was better off not knowing. She’d want to know, though.

Maybe she could tell him later. Or never. She could certainly put off deciding about it until later.

“Can I join?” She zeroed in on the bonfire, skipping over any talk of feelings. “I--” She paused, not preparing to lie, technically, but just frame the truth in a more endearing way.  “Harlan and I just broke up, too.” She shrugged just as the waitress reappeared and Honey ordered four drinks for the table before Will could change his mind on the gin situation. The waitress left and Honey looked back to Will, turning more toward him and resting her elbow on the table. “Someone else for him.”

“It was the wrong reason for wanting to see you,” she said with half a smile. “Thought you’d be good to talk to.” The waitress returned with their drinks, two for each. Honey clinked (one of) her glass(es) to his before taking a big swallow. Will didn’t look as please with the drinks as she was and she tapped her fingers on the tabletop for a second; she turned the rest of the way toward him, looking at him properly. “Y’know, if we’d never broken up--” she motioned between the two of them to clarify the we she was talking about-- “Then we wouldn’t have to deal with this now.” It wasn’t an apology, or close to the sympathy he probably needed, but it’d have to do.

Honey asked about the bonfire and he couldn't help but let out a short laugh. Her not judging him was a nice feeling. Had his mother found out, she'd say he was being "over dramatic" and "childish" and maybe he was but his feelings - whatever they were - were surely justified and valid. "Of course you can. We'll get a take away and make a night of it," Will joked only to shut right up at her next comment.

"You're kidding." She wasn't. He wasn't. No one was kidding. "Oh fuck, Honey, I'm sorry," he blurted out, his handsome face creasing as the guilt washed over him. Yikes. Here he was, bleating about his ramshackle relationship when her very real one had disintegrated. Will let out a heavy sigh and shook his head as though he couldn't believe it, flicking his eyes up to glance at her as she explained.

"What an absolute dickhead," he muttered darkly, lips pursed in an uncanny impression of his grandmother. Now, he didn't like Harlan. He'd never liked him. There was something about him that Will just couldn't quite put his finger on, a vibe sort of. Of all the news stories he'd read written about the Quidditch player, the less he felt sympathetic towards him. It was probably all tangled up with the feelings of resentment he'd indulged himself in after Honey left him because he was the reason for his previous tailspin.

But Honey was the be-all-and-end-all, wasn't she? She wasn't someone who was replaced. After all, why would her ex throw away a diamond and pick up a pebble? Will had firmly been in love with Honey and a very small part of him might still possibly be but she'd be fine. She was always fine. If he ever needed a reason to plough his fist through the Quidditch player's face, this was it.

He frowned again before offering her a small smile. She probably didn't want (or need) to tell her that she was too good for him because she knew. A latent anger was bubbling and he couldn't work out where it was coming from, whether it be from Bérénice lying to him for however long or from Honey suffering. Either way, Harlan Bellamy was definitely implicated. "Absolute twatwaffle," he mumbled again, only realising now that his hands were balled up and into fists.

Oh, there was gin.

"Was it?" Will asked Honey quickly, wondering why she'd ever need an excuse to come and see him. They clinked glasses and he picked up the spare one, tapping the bottom of his glass against the side of her other one to complete the ritual. "I think it's a pretty good reason to see me," he offered before taking a gulp and forgetting it was gin, only to be reminded almost instantly.

"I am good to talk to," Will told her quickly, just in case he decided to leave. "Usually," he frowned. "Without all of this going on," he added, gesturing to his face in an attempt to encapsulate this trainwreck of a day as he drank his gin. "Do you want to talk about it?" He ventured gently, not really sure if he wanted to talk about his own relationship, either. It was too fresh. The image of Bérénice's face as she closed the door after being told to leave was haunting him but he refused to apologise for his behaviour this time. If he had time to process everything, he might have realised that he wasn't blameless but for now, both his ex and her ex were vying for position of enemy number one. Honey needed to stop him from sending flowers by way of an apology.

"Mm?" Will asked, distracted, but looking up as Honey spoke again. He smiled, genuinely this time. "Yeah," he nodded, both thrilled and alarmed that she might want to look back into this. He hated that word, closure. It was too American and it sounded plastic-y. "But you'd still be unhappy," he reminded her lightly, tapping his index finger on the back of her knuckles once. He'd come to terms with not being "The One" for Honey but it had taken a bloody long time.

"Where do you reckon we'd be by now if we were still together, then?" He queried, wondering if he was opening Pandora's box. He didn't have anything to lose. He was already two pints and half a glass of gin down now. "If you say that you hadn't decided to name a fudge after me, I'd be mad we hadn't broken up sooner," he quipped with a dimpled smile to show he was only kidding.

Will apologized and Honey shook her head. “No, don’t be.” She didn’t want an apology about all of this, especially not from Will, who didn’t even know he was kind of involved in it considering who Harlan’s other someone was. There was a smaller lump of guilt under there, too, but Honey was better at ignoring it; if Harlan hadn’t fucked things up first, then Honey would have and it was just easier to end things than fight for something that couldn’t be saved.

She grinned at dickhead but the rest of it took her aback, the range of emotions crossing Will’s face. It was like he was taking her breakup harder than she was which was.. not great. She took a large swallow of her drink and glanced at the table next to them, only looking back at twatwaffle. “He is, isn’t he?” Honey shrugged and had another drink.

It was easier to distract him with thoughts of them, though. She had wanted to see him, to talk to him; of course, she hadn’t intended to talk to him about their relationship; more like she had intended to ruin his current (or most recent) relationship. It was a technicality. Either way she could distract him from both of their breakups (and distract herself from hers, which she was only now realizing was a thing she wanted). Plus, he thought it was a good reason to see him. “Well, if you think so,” she said with a smirk before matching him and his drink.

But did she want to talk about it? “Absolutely not.” She pointed at Will’s neglected drink as she had another swallow of hers. “And let’s assume you don’t either.” She raised both eyebrows, hinting toward really not wanting to talk about it.

“Yeah,” she repeated. She rolled her eyes as he told her she’d be unhappy (even though he wasn’t wrong), glanced briefly at her hand as he touched it. “So would you.” She tapped his forearm with her finger. Honey had built things up over the past year, painting herself in a better light. She thought she’d ended things with him so that he could find someone better — or more realistically, just someone who wanted the same things. It hadn’t been anything she’d done wrong.

“If we were still together,” she paused for a smirk; “It’d be what.. two years?” It’d make more sense for her longest relationship to be with Will, anyway, rather than her real record holder now. Will was the relationship type, at least. She took a drink and snorted softly as he went on.  She licked her bottom lip, catching a drop of stray gin. “Three types of fudge, at least.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Strawberry balsamic—“ he had strawberry gelato when they went to Italy— “White chocolate and bergamot, maybe with an orange swirl—“ for the Earl Grey he had in the morning— “Passionfruit caramel—“ because sometimes she needed to just be literal, passionfruit. He’d appreciate the cheesiness, anyway.

She shrugged and had another drink before shifting to prop her elbow on the table and rest her cheek on her fist. “I think if like-- we could just have dated indefinitely but still work as much as we want and just know that we’re serious without actually being serious.” Was she making sense? She wasn’t making sense. “Y’know?” It didn’t matter if she was making sense. It wouldn’t have worked for them like that; Will wanted to holiday, never mind the serious thing.

"Christ, no," Will answered Honey almost instantly when asked if he wanted to talk things through. He shook his head and frowned and was already working on the tried and true Dasher Family Coping Mechanism - bury it deep. It wasn't that he didn't trust Honey, of course he did, it was just a bit inappropriate. He just wanted to calm down, get properly trollied in the pub, roll home and forget today even happened. Though, there was a small part of him who wanted to find out exactly what had gone on in her relationship. Would it benefit either of them? No. But like a tongue seeking out a sore tooth, he was a glutton for punishment.

Her brief touch on his arm made him smile as he shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not." Holding onto Honey was like trying to hold onto water between cupped hands. Will had already done this, though, dissected their entire relationship at 4AM for weeks after their break up. He was at peace with it now but he was startled at how easily it was to slip back into his previous mindset.

Two years? Will's eyes widened in surprise but he stayed silent as Honey spoke, drinking gin intermittently and feeling it go directly to his head in the process. Would they have been living together? Would he have been able to coax her to London? Would he have been able to get himself up to Scotland? Would he have been able to pull her away from work? Would she have been able to get him to loosen up?

Honey was poking fun at him but she did it in such an exquisite way, he wasn't bothered. "Lovely," he announced with a smile. "Regardless if we were dating are not, you should definitely be making those," he nodded. There was a faint twang of melancholy nostalgia. "I love bergamot." She already knew that. "Anniversary edition fudge," he added, jokingly.

Honey got herself settled and Will leaned back, his long legs crossed at the ankles as he tilted his head in confusion. Did he know what she meant? "Yes," he lied. He listened to her chat and he blinked as the penny dropped - it sounded like a casual relationship. "We weren't doing that already?" He asked stupidly as the gin trickled into his bloodstream. It sounded dangerous. Feelings would get hurt and boundaries would be over stepped. What a complete mess. But how exciting.

"Like boyfriend and girlfriend but not boyfriend and girlfriend?" Will asked dumbly as he tried to make sense of it. The best parts of a relationship without actually being in one. Committed without the commitment. Together but not together. "That's not actually a bad idea," he mused with a thoughtful frown, switching from gin to drain the last dregs of his lager.

"Clearly what I'm doing is definitely not working," Will admitted as he took off his glasses and rubbed his left eye with the heel of his hand. He came in strong and fast so looking back, there was no wonder why Honey had bolted after Italy. What was he thinking? "Modern relationships," Will remarked, his dark brown eyes wide as though he'd just figured out the meaning of life. Bad luck he was still stuck in the Victorian era.

He looked at Honey properly. "You think we'd still be together if I wasn't so --" struggling to find the word, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Nothing he could think of would be complementary. "Clingy?"

“We weren’t,” she said, quickly. She didn’t think they were, thought that when he’d put the ‘girlfriend’ label on her that that was sort of… it. She hadn’t been actively seeing anyone else at the time so it hadn’t required a lot of effort but later she had avoided doing anything — except that one kiss with Harlan, which sounded way worse now after recent events, but — and broken things off before it got too serious because she didn’t think she could hack it. Maybe if she had done all her trying with Will, could have avoided all of this new mess.

She blew air out through pursed lips as her hand sought out her drink again. “Did you--” They hadn’t really discussed it ever, had they? Honey had told him she liked being his girlfriend after a few too many glasses of limoncello and she had probably thought that was enough at the time. “Sorry for making you think that.” She remembered a second later that they’d met each other’s families, at Christmas, no less. Merlin, if that wasn’t serious— This was the wrong time to make excuses for herself, sitting here with him, having made the conscious decision to not tell him that she knew more details about his most recent breakup than he thought. 

He understood what she was saying though when she’d rambled on about dating but not dating. “Something like that.” She had another swallow of her drink, doing quick work of finding the bottom of her glass. She raised both eyebrows as she lowered his glass, watching him switch back to his beer immediately after suggesting that he try something casual. He couldn’t — she didn’t know who he was kidding — but she didn’t say anything; she was too close to letting that thought roll into something worse to say, now: he didn’t need to. She usually (always) judged people for that but it was different with him, for some reason.

Honey snorted a laugh into a glass as she took another drink. “You’ve just had shitty girlfriends,” she said, setting her glass back on the table with a little too much force.

They looked at each other, and Honey turned to face him a bit more head on, bumping his knee with hers. This seemed like one of those moments, a serious one, where she’d say the wrong thing and they’d never talk again, but she’d had too much gin by now to think things through very carefully. “Iiii don’t know.” Would they actually still be together? “Maybe.” He wasn’t clingy; she wouldn’t call it that. Deeply apologetic and self conscious? Sure. “Probably not.” She offered half a smile, realizing belatedly her hand was on his knee again, unsure when she’d put it there.

“But maybe.” Honey squeezed her hand before she moved it back to her lap. “It wasn’t your fault, or anything.” She was still convinced the breakup had been in his best interest, or something like that. Her exact logic was escaping her now. “Someone’s gonna make you happy.” She shrugged but she wasn’t trying to be nonchalant about anything. “I just mean—“ she caught his eye again. “I don’t know.”

Will winced as Honey put him straight and spelled out what their relationship had -  or hadn't - been. That was clearly his problem, he and his partners weren't on the same page. If they made it to three months, he just assumed they were dating. How utterly tragic.

He smiled and shook his head. "You didn't make me think anything," Will was quick to answer her, assuring her that he'd made the leap  and Honey hadn't pushed him. Whatever had happened didn't matter now. It wouldn't help him sort his head out. But there was Christmas. Honey had met his parents, his siblings, even his work friends. He fell silent for a moment, about to start spiralling before he downed the first glass of gin. Not today.

Will still didn't get it. The puzzle pieces weren't fitting. That relationship might work for Honey but he knew, they both did, that it wasn't right for him. And he was annoyed. It seemed like the perfect compromise, intimacy and companionship but without the labels. Labels ruined everything. The wheels in his head came screeching to a halt; had he even asked Bérénice to be his girlfriend? Or had he just assumed? He felt a bit sick.

"Well, if you know anyone single," Will joked weakly. The old the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else adage was floating about his brain.

Honey snorted and he gave a short laugh. Catherine had been a shit girlfriend, he'd admit. The rest? Maybe. "I still don't think I deserve it, though," Will announced as he drank, wafting his hand through the air in an attempt to encompass everything - the lying, the cheating, the broken plans, the emotional distance. He wasn't a bad person but this was happening too often not to make him think that the problem lay with him.

Their knees bumped together but he didn't move away. The warmth from Honey's skin was comforting against his. Will laughed, genuinely and loudly as Honey admitted they probably wouldn't still be together. "Thought so," he added kindly. A wistful sigh escaped him and without thought, he placed a hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze.

As mad as he was at Bérénice, she'd actually helped mend him somewhat in the wake of Honey's break up. He'd been a mess in Honey's absence and it had taken a long (long) time for him to get back to normal or thereabouts. Then Bérénice walked in, dressed in pink, in a library and pulled him out of his stupor. Fresh and new and pretty. He'd slotted her into his life but he'd also crammed her into a Honey shaped hole and she just didn't fit. She shouldn't have fitted. That wasn't the point. They were not interchangeable.

She removed her hand from his knee and he looked up sharply. He nodded, thankful that she'd said that. He was trying not to be so bumbling and apologetic because yeah, Honey kissing Harlan wasn't his fault. He hadn't made her do it. It was nice to hear. "Oh sure," he said brightly as though forcing himself to believe it. "It's a big world out there. Someone's got to want this," he joked as he plucked at his collar. Honey was kind enough to tell him straight that she didn't know if it would work out for him. He didn't want or need sympathy. He appreciated her fresh take.

"I don't think I'll be trying anything again for a little while," he remarked as he drank, shrugging his left shoulder. It wasn't that Bérénice had broken his heart or his spirit. She wasn't the pantomime villain. He needed to suck it up and stick his tongue down someone else's throat, much the same as she'd done. Simple. He was just tired. Being in a relationship was a full time job. He didn't want to "get back on the horse" just yet. He wasn't complaining or moaning. He'd been reading a couple of books that insisted he needed to "take time for himself". He didn't really know what that meant. One thing was for sure, though - Harlan didn't know how fucking lucky he had been.

"Thank you," he told Honey with a nod of his head, appreciating that she'd come all this way on a whim. While her words were confusing, they struck a chord. Will watched her closely as he chewed his lower lip. "I don't know, either," he admitted quietly. Being alone was a frightening thought. There was a sort of innate pressure at being over thirty and unattached. Speaking of. "I should have brought your birthday present with me," he said suddenly, smacking his forehead like the loser he was.

Honey narrowed her eyes; she hadn’t made him think anything. He had literally just said they had been casual, despite her referring to him as her boyfriend, despite her not seeing anyone else for months while they were together, despite her meeting his family. She had tried to correct him, tell him that she had been trying; he must have thought pretty poorly of her, of her ability to commit and-- he hadn’t been wrong, in the end, but still. What the fuck, Will?

“I’ll let you know,” she said, looking at her drink instead of him, waiting a beat before picking it up and taking another couple swallows. She knew plenty of single women but she wasn’t about to point any of them in Will’s direction; it’d been over a year since she’d broken up with him -- and she had broken up with him -- but she was still feeling a bit possessive. She had another drink, tried to move past it. The gin was helping, anyway.

She was happy to be talking about them again, in an almost good way -- even if they were talking about how they wouldn’t still be together. She looked at their hands, his, on hers, on his knee; he squeezed his and she did the same, meeting his eye for half a second before she looked away, taking her hand back with her.

Will deflected and Honey rolled her eyes. She didn’t say anything; what would be the point when he’d just deflect again, wallow around and say he didn’t deserve to be happy? She drank when he did, happy for the distraction from her distraction.

She shrugged off his thanks; there was no reason to thank her, especially not now, not with the information she was withholding about the end of his relationship, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. Honey finished her drink instead, almost laughing at the next thing Will said. “My birthday present?” She reached out suddenly to straighten his collar, slightly askew from his earlier deflection. “It’s not for another month,” she said, smoothing her hand over his shoulder, realizing belatedly that she had leaned farther into his personal space than she would have without the gin’s help.

Her hand was still on his upper arm; she squeezed gently and looked up to meet his gaze, forgetting the past few minutes of their trip down their imperfect memory lane. She’d convinced herself that he deserved better, had literally just said that she’d been a shitty girlfriend, knew that it’d be such a bad idea -- but he’d also just said that they’d been casual the whole time, didn’t think as highly of their relationship as she thought he did, so where was the harm and--

Honey leaned closer, letting go of her glass so she could touch him with both hands, one still on his arm, the other just above his knee, both applying gentle pressure. She closed her eyes, ignoring the look on his face that might have suggested she shouldn’t, and pressed her lips to his. His beard tickled her chin -- like it always had -- and he tasted like beer more than gin and that was familiar, too.

With a quick and uncomfortable smile, Will offered her a shrug as though it was an explanation. He really couldn't catch a break. He had a bad cause of foot-in-mouth syndrome. He also didn't have the balls to tell her that him going to Honey's birthday party, though graciously invited, might be a bad idea. The only person he sort of knew there would be Fergie and he might be dating someone and thirdwheeling wasn't really his thing. He was also just past thirty but he felt so old. He really didn't want to tell anyone to turn the bass down.

Honey was in his personal space but her touch was casual but he watched her carefully regardless. "You know me, always prepared," he joked, holding up the traditional three-fingered salute of the Boy Scouts movement before he realised that she might not be familiar with it. He was cringing internally and he wanted to slam his forehead onto the table.

Will parted his lips but he couldn't really think of anything to say as her fingers traced along his shoulder blade and caused him to shiver and clear his throat gently. His hand snaked up the side of her thigh automatically, resting on her hip. He wanted to keep her upright but he also just wanted to feel her. They shouldn't be doing this. He knew it, she knew it but then again, they were single and their lines were already tangled. Honey wasn't close enough.

His hand was on the small of her back and he was acutely aware of how his breathing hitched in his throat. The noisy pub with the chatter and the clink of glasses seemed to melt away but, as always where Honey was concerned, it was impossible to look away. Was she aware she had this power? It was unlikely their chat had awoken any long forgotten ideas. She was probably upset about her break up, he was upset about his but it was Honey. Maybe he needed her more than she needed him.

"Hey," he said very softly as she came closer still, now going slightly cross-eyed as he tried to focus on her own instead of her lips but failing miserably. She smelt nice he realised belatedly. He wanted to kiss her. Being this close was something he wasn't really aware he'd been lacking. She was soft and familiar and gorgeous and...interested? "I'm not sure we should --"

The fingers he had on Honey's back tightened as they kissed, pressing into her skin,  grabbing a fistful of the fabric as though frightened she might disappear. The pressure was soft, gentle, as he kissed her back. His brain suddenly shut off. He knew damned well this was a piss-poor decision. But he was sad and lonely and confused and, honestly? He was tired of being himself. Regular Will would have gently rebuffed Honey and apologised for taking advantage, collect his things and ran away. The brief spark of panic was swiftly extinguished. But fuck it.

With a quick shift of his arm, he pulled her sideways and towards him roughly, knocking her off balance to land heavily on his lap, her legs dangling over his thighs. He kissed her again, eyes closed, his free hand coming up to run his fingers through her soft hair, cradling the base of her skull. He needed to stop apologising. He wanted her to be close, he didn't really have anything to be sorry for.

Will's arm held Honey securely as they kissed, his grip on her hair tightening without thought as he wrapped it around his fingers out of habit. In the background, someone wolf-whistled loudly. Silently, Will simply raised a middle finger in that direction and was rewarded with laughter and round of applause. He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he stayed close, almost nose to nose. "Do you want to get out of here?" He whispered with a grin.

Honey pushed through his hesitation; a second later he was kissing her back, his hands on her, not unlike nothing had changed between them since— this was a bad idea. It was Will and hadn’t she just said that she’d been a shitty girlfriend and he deserved better and— fuck it, this was the first thing to get her mind off of Harlan in days. She dropped one of her hands to the one he had on her thigh, moved it further up her leg.

Their first snog had been in a pub like this; so many things about this were just so familiar, so comfortable, so easy to return to. But this — Will pulled her toward him and she pulled back from the kiss to let him do his thing — was new. Honey settled into his lap, pulling her hem down with one hand (because there was only one person she wanted to flash) and holding tight to him with the other.

She kissed him back, hands now on either side of his face. She moved one to the back of his neck after another beat, pulling him closer. They should probably tone it down — she wasn’t straddling him but it was close — or leave, which seemed like the better option (and someone to her left seemed to agree). They’d lose interest, she decided, leaning into, leaving enough space for her fingers to undo his top button.

Or… that. Honey opened her eyes, catching her breath. He wasn’t looking at her — they were still so close — and she closed her eyes again, leaning her forehead against hers. “Please.” That first time they’d gone back to his place, just like this. She lingered for a second, not hearing anything but their breathing; she untangled herself slowly, awkwardly, getting to her feet and tugging at her hem again.

She pulled some notes from her purse, fanning them out on the table in front of them. “Do you think this is enough?” She let him sort it out and finished her gin as he did; that settled, she let him lead her out of the pub by the hand, her gaze drifting south as she followed him out.

And good on her for picking a place to meet that was so close to his place; even then, she couldn’t let it go more than twenty seconds or so before she tugged on his hand, pulling him to her as she backed up against the wall, into a little recess between two potted shrubs. She slid her hands down his sides, hooking her fingers into his belt loops and pulling his hips to hers, letting herself get distracted for maybe a minute before she pushed him off and pointed them back down the sidewalk. She wasn’t going to overthink this.