it's hard to do these things alone [honey]

She was regretting her decision to stop all of it, now that his hand was on her waist — still under her shirt — and maybe it really was just cuddling. It wasn’t like this was some life or death situation; this wasn’t so different from sharing a bed with Grace (on a very basic level) so why did it— he didn’t have a counter offer to tea but Honey didn’t think she should have been hoping for one, either. “Alright.” She sat up enough to let Charlie have his arm back, watching him sit up for a second before she pushed herself the rest of the way up.

Mid-stretch, mid-yawn, Honey couldn’t answer him until he was out the door. “Sorted myself out?” Did she look that rough? She rolled her eyes and got out of bed, taking a small detour to the ensuite. After a few quick blinks in the brighter light, Honey checked out her reflection; it wasn’t great but it wasn’t that bad; there’d been worse mornings, anyway. She took a few minutes to wash her face properly, borrow more toothpaste, run her finger through her hair. She probably looked more sleepy now that she’d scrubbed off her mascara — the red eyelashes didn’t help anything — but it wasn’t like he’d never seen her without makeup on. She clearly couldn’t get a handle on what she should or shouldn’t care about, trying to be friends.

She didn’t change clothes before she headed downstairs, hadn’t really thought through if she should — she was bound to not overthink everything this morning. Honey hesitated in the doorway, watching Charlie for a beat before he turned around. She missed his wandering gaze; hers had wandered, too, not really sure if she had fully appreciated the view the night before. He cleared his throat and she met his eye, stepping a little closer to take the mug from him, hesitating again as he set it on the bar. “I do, yeah.”  She didn’t tell him how much or that he probably should have added more; she could see the sugar and could handle it herself.

Honey picked up her mug and took that step closer again, eyes firmly on his. “Can I ask you something?” This was a weird middle ground, not properly friends but not really anything else, either and they needed to just pick one. She’d managed to convince herself — somewhere between the bedroom and the kitchen — she was doing this for his sake (and Alannah’s) because that bullshit was easier to swallow than her still trying to prove something to herself by not sleeping with him because she thought it might have helped her reconcile with someone she clearly shouldn’t have been dating in the first place and— Honey glanced down at herself, mostly because of how he was looking at her but also: “Who is this?” She pointed at her chest, at the woman on her borrowed t-shirt.

Charlie stared at her for a minute, trying to work out what was different -- maybe it was just her being in his home that was foreign. She took sugar, though, so he silently congratulated himself for that. He lifted his own (sugarless) mug and blew across the surface, wetting his lips before taking a sip. When he looked back at Honey she was moving closer. Charlie held her gaze and lowered his tea, toyed with the idea of putting it down on the counter but she hadn’t set hers down yet either so maybe— Maybe he should put his down.

He wet his lips again, eyes still on hers. “Yeah,” he murmured, letting his gaze drift down to her mouth, then a little lower, lower still. He was acutely aware that he was in just his boxers, which was more obvious now they were standing in his kitchen, rather than cuddled up together in his bed under the duvet. He didn’t know what she was going to ask but he had a good inkling that he’d say ‘yes’, whatever it was—

Oh. He blinked, staring at her chest -- at the woman on the t-shirt -- and tried not to seem disappointed by her line of questioning. “It’s— wait,” he lifted his chin to look her -- Honey -- in the eye. “You don’t know who Dolly Parton is?” he asked incredulously. He wasn’t like, a huge fan (of Country music) but he thought everyone at least knew who she was. Then again, he reminded himself, he was thinking like a muggle.

He glanced down at Honey’s chest again (he had a good excuse now, at least), then back up to her face, still close. “Dolly Parton. She sings—”  he stopped sharply, had been about to start singing a few bars of 9 to 5 before thinking better of it, “— Country. She doesn’t look like that now,” he added, “lots of surgery,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, disapprovingly. His attention had gravitated back down (to Dolly, to Honey’s tits) as he sipped at his tea again.

“No,” she said, almost defensively, as if she should have known who the woman was all along. Honey shifted her tea, holding it with both hands, but held it with one (and a little off to the side) after another second, not missing his drifting gaze and not wanting block his view. She wanted to counter him with something like ‘you don’t know who…’ but she couldn’t think of any wizard obscure enough — because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A NEWT in Muggle Studies only went so far — to fit the bill. She rolled her eyes instead. “I’ve been on the tube once, you can’t be—“ she was talking fast but she stopped when he glanced at her chest again. She had to pause to smirk.

She nodded once, rolling her eyes. “Right.” What kind of a name was Dolly? “I don’t listen to—“ she’d been about to say ‘music’ because she just put on the WWN in the background while she worked (and coincidentally that was how she first heard his Honey song) but that didn’t really count for much— “Country.” Her parents had some records as did her grandparents and that was the extent or her exposure to muggle music; minus her dad’s new affinity for Charlie’s band, she didn’t think Charlie would share too many of their taste in music.

His gaze dropped again and Honey had her first sip of tea, making a face as she lowered her mug. “How much sugar’s in here?” She caught his eye as he told her and her eyebrows went up slowly as she looked back at the tea, eyeing it almost suspiciously. “That’s what I usually use,” she said, catching his eye again. It’d been an eerily accurate guess but she still needed more if she was expected to drink it (and she’d asked for tea in the first place and asking for coffee instead wasn’t something she could do here, now, with him, so..). 

Honey turned round and reached for the sugar, deciding to repurpose the sugar spoon for her tea as she added another spoonful. She kept her back to him as she stirred her tea, the sounds of the metal on porcelain the only thing for a few seconds before she had to say something else: “Thanks.” She left her tea alone and turned, hands gripping the edges of the counter behind her. “For letting me stay, not for the tea,” she said before adding, “And for the tea, I guess.”

Honey said she didn’t listen to Country and Charlie held her gaze, unsure what he was supposed to do with that information -- tuck it away for later? Hadn’t he recently realised he knew fuck all about her? What did she listen to, then? Not him, apparently, if he believed that. He found it hard to -- mainly in that his ego didn’t want to let him believe it -- but it would fit, wouldn’t it? Imagine having more than one song written about you and just… not showing any sort of interest. The balls on her.

“What do you listen to?” he asked, deciding he might as well try and keep up this friend thing, now that they were having a chat over a cup of tea instead of doing what they could be doing instead.

Charlie flicked his eyes back up to meet hers. “Just over two teaspoons,” he answered her, assuming he’d perhaps gone a little overboard. “Is it too much?” he asked, lifting his mug from where he’d been holding it around hip-height, ready to swap -- he could suffer through two and a bit teaspoons— It was what she normally used -- had he known that? Like in the recesses of his subconscious somewhere? She looked at him and he looked at her, trying to pull a face that didn’t look creepy or obsessive because it had just been a good guess—

She turned and pulled the sugar closer, added more. His eyebrows rose in unison, before he remembered not everybody drank Yorkshire tea -- he hadn’t bothered to get any other kind because he lived by himself now and because he hadn’t been expecting any guests (and when the boys came over, it wasn’t for a cup of tea). “Sorry, I forgot it’s-- stronger,” he said, his voice giving out a little on the last word as she faced him once more, hands on the edge of the counter. Charlie swallowed, looked between them -- should have lent her a shorter shirt -- then glanced up when she spoke.

“Ehm, yeah. Anytime.” His eyes widened after he’d said it -- anytime? He dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. having a large gulp of his tea to avoid saying anything else stupid -- regretting it when it burnt his tongue and throat; he winced, scrunching his eyes up. He hadn’t been specific about what anytime applied to -- the tea or the staying over -- but he didn’t want to exclude either option, now that he thought about it. “You know where I live,” he joked, had another sip of tea.

What did she listen to? She’d avoided talking to him about music as much as she had avoided talking about books with Will; ‘the radio’ was as good an answer as any, considering that was the true but again, there was an inordinate amount of Banshee on the WWN (especially the last few weeks). “Just ‘Honey over and over and over,” she said instead, a soft smirk playing down whatever truth -- not much -- there was to it.

She wished she had turned round with her tea in her hands, almost flustered by the way he was looking at her again even though she had enjoyed it a moment before. She needed to get a handle on what she was doing here, what she was stil doing here, convince herself again that she should leave for Alannah’s sake -- he was going to the match -- but anytime.

Honey raised her eyebrows, sucked in her lips. He wasn’t looking at her anymore and she figured she knew why. They weren’t stupid -- or, they were, but not about this -- and she knew what could have happened last night, this morning, what would happen if she popped round again because they weren’t really friends; they both knew that.

It was fucking tempting though, wasn’t it? She gone through the motions of thinking this through the last time she’d gone to his flat; it’d be easy, familiar. Conveniently she stopped her thoughts before she got to the end of it all, the heated words that surely stemmed from his unwise attachment to her--

“Well you know where I live, too.” It was either her wandering thoughts or-- no, that was the only thing to blame for her reply, speaking before she gave her words any mind. “Don’t think I’ll be back in London anytime soon.” Like he had a minute before, Honey’s eyes went wide after she’d said it. She’d swear she mean that in a ‘I don’t know how many chances I’ll have for anytime because work is just so busy’ but work wasn’t all that busy; she didn’t exactly have any holiday plans lined up; she’d said what she said. She turned around to get her tea, sipping at it -- still too strong -- before she turned back to him.

Charlie’s expression shifted as he shot her an unimpressed look -- he knew that was a lie. After a moment his true appreciation for her ever-so-witty answer creeped onto his lips as he smirked slowly back at her. “Obsessed.”

But anytime. Why did he say that? Well, he knew why he’d said it -- he was trying to be a smartass --  but he hadn’t really meant it like that, he didn’t think, until it was already past his lips, and he wasn’t about to take it back -- if she wanted to pick him over Harlan (seemed unlikely, given the past few months) then that was her decision to make, he would just let the option be there—

He kept his eyes on hers when she returned the offer -- was it an offer? It felt like one. Maybe she hadn’t taken nor meant it that way -- no, she definitely had; it was Honey. Charlie wet his lips. He knew where she lived -- had turned up not that long ago and she’d (gently, in hindsight) turned him down. He’d been there again seeking counsel immediately after sleeping with Kate, and she’d— She’d told him he shouldn’t see Kate again. That Alannah shouldn’t have to put up with his shit. He was following her advice, wasn’t he? He hadn’t seen Kate since, and he was going to end things (whatever things were) with Alannah soon -- not tomorrow, but soon.

But she’d kissed him last night, so—

His stare -- the one that hadn’t left Honey’s eyes yet -- intensified as hers widened. She wouldn’t be back in London -- because of him, or…? “What?" he asked with her back to him.

Honey turned back around to fiddle with her tea but mostly just to avoid analyzing Charlie’s expression anymore. She’d said she wouldn’t be back in London but didn’t have a good to reason to have said it— she didn’t have alcohol to blame, either. It was probably time to go — she should have left immediately after their nice ‘just friends’ snuggle, left on a high note — but for whatever reason she wasn’t headed out the door.

She turned back around only after he said something, though what he said wasn’t helpful at all. “I—“ She stopped, telling herself again that ‘I’m just busy is all’ wasn’t a good reason because then why would she have told him to come to Hogsmeade? “London,” she repeated instead. He’d heard her; that wasn’t what he was asking for clarification on.

It wasn’t a big deal — that had been her mantra for months now — so why did it feel like it was? It wasn’t because she had just barely missed them being single at the same time but she didn’t want him to think she’d been hesitating for his sake — or Alannah’s — either because that’d be close to the ‘emotions’ he had mentioned before. (And did she still believe she actually cared about his relationship with Alannah? She hadn’t matured that much.)

She leaned back against the counter again, gripping the edge with her hands. “I broke up with—“ She paused again and shrugged, letting him finish her sentence for himself. “A couple weeks ago.” She didn’t offer any of the finer details and had to stop herself from apologizing for not telling him sooner; she didn’t owe him anything.

She glanced down, away from his face, but he was standing there in his boxers so his face was a safer choice. Glancing back up, she shrugged again, not exactly expecting him to lunge but not having experience with a lot of other Charlie-reactions to expect something more realistic.

London. Charlie kept his eyes on Honey’s; he hadn’t needed that part repeated – he needed a little more context, an explanation. She fidgeted, gripped the counter, and then dropped her bombshell.

Charlie stared at her for a second, before relaxing his shoulders where he’d been holding them tensely. “Oh,” he nodded, dropped his gaze for a moment in an attempt to seem… sympathetic or something. “Good.” He flicked his eyes back up to hers and her expression made him replay what he’d just said in his head. “Sorry, I just mean— last night…" he trailed off, Honey still looked confused – did she not remember? For the second time in as many minutes he realised his words (or lack thereof) might be misinterpreted. “We didn’t, you know,” he told her, though he would like to think he’d never been that unmemorable. Anyway, if they had, it wouldn’t matter now – she wasn’t with Harlan – but he didn’t want her blaming him for her breakup.

A couple of weeks ago, though, they had still been much more firmly in the ‘just friends’ camp – no sneaking off from the party together, no snuggling, no cup of tea the next morning… But why hadn’t she come to see him then?— Probably something to do with him turning up to announce he’d just slept with Kate. Christ, he was an idiot.

Charlie had another sip of his tea, simultaneously giving Honey another – more comprehensive – once-over, now that he felt like it was allowed. He lowered his mug and set it down to free up his hands, gripping his counter to mirror her across the small kitchen. There was no excuse now – Harlan was no longer providing a (convincing) reason to keep his distance. If that had been the only thing stopping them, and she had known, he found it hard not to be offended that she hadn’t made a move last night, or this morning, or within the last two weeks.

But Kate wasn’t his only hurdle, he remembered belatedly. "You know I'm—” he started, then wet his lips, trying to decide if breaking up was the right term before skipping it entirely (Honey would work it out), “— Alannah.” He lifted one foot from the floor to scratch at a non-existent itch on his other calf. “Was just waiting ‘til after the match." He thought he’d told her this already, but maybe he’d just thought he had. She had told him to break up – whatever – with Alannah in the first place.

Charlie caught Honey’s eyes trailing up his body, held her gaze unabashedly when she finally made it to his face. He chewed on his lip, thought fuck it, and pushed off from the counter to stride over to her, grabbing her head in both of his hands and pressing his lips to hers.

Good? He said it was good. She nearly asked him what he meant by that, exactly -- it was nice that she wasn’t about to apologize for not telling him sooner, at least -- but she remembered the song, then; shouldn’t have written about you breaking up with Harlan or something. Her internal debate from a few seconds ago about this not being a big deal seemed stupid now, considering.. this. Them. The spooning that didn’t count as cheating.

But he apologized -- and clarified -- before she could question his reaction. Last night; they’d literally just established that nothing counted (though she had originally asked what counted because she was trying to figure out if she had overreacted to the Harlan situation) but she must have looked confused because he went on to explain that nothing had happened. “I know,” she said, quickly. A drink, a sandwich, a cuddle.

Honey didn’t say anything else, almost annoyed that he was still drinking his tea like he hadn’t wanted this to happen -- not that she wanted him to want it but at least that would make this whole thing a bit clearer, make it obvious where they stood, keep her from wondering what they were meant to do as just friends because -- Alannah. He mentioned his relationship as soon as Honey had started to think about it; it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was waiting to do until after the match. “Why would I know that?” He was still going to the match, which didn’t exactly translate to ‘obviously I’m breaking up with my girlfriend but I’m too nice to do it yet’. What if they lost? Would he keep waiting?

She didn’t know why she cared, why she was still pretending she’d been avoiding Charlie for his (or Alannah’s sake)-- she realized a second later that he could be ending things with Alannah because of-- no, that was too far fetched, even for Charlie, even considering how he’d wanted to date date the last time she’d been in his flat and fuck. She didn’t have just the one reason for not immediately going to Charlie after she had ended things with Harlan.

He didn’t say anything else and Honey was halfway between wanting him to and not, remind her why it’d been a bad idea to stay over, or-- he moved towards her and she barely had enough time to be grateful she’d just brushed her teeth before he was kissing her. She wanted this; she didn’t want this; hadn’t she been thinking about apologizing to Harlan twenty minutes ago? Thinking about some sort of reconciliation?

She was still thinking about her ex when she brought one hand up to the back of Charlie’s neck, pulled his hips to hers with the other. This had more weight now, in the daylight, sober -- why hadn’t she done this last night when she had nothing but excuses? -- and she’d just told him about her breakup and-- Honey couldn’t pull him much closer but she tried, anxious to stop thinking about anything else.

Charlie tried not to read into the slight delay between him kissing her and Honey deciding to be an active participant – tried not to think about how fresh her breath was (had she used his toothbrush?) and how unfresh his must be (hopefully he’d drunk enough tea), tried not to think about how she could have told him about Harlan last night and saved him the ballache (literally) of waiting until now. But the hand on his hip, pulling him closer, was enough of a distraction for him to not need to think about it right now.

He crouched, hands smoothing around and under her thighs to lift her up onto the counter with more ease than she might’ve been used to – from him, anyway, he imagined Harlan— no, he didn’t want to think about them. That. Charlie bit Honey’s lip sharply as they kissed, hoping she might return the favour and distract him from overthinking – this was why drinking made all of this easier, another reason last night would have been better, but – he slid his fingers up under her shirt – there was something nice about this too.

…

He smirked as he pulled the door to the ensuite behind him, not quite closing it, and undid the towel he’d literally just wrapped around his waist, drying himself as he walked to his dresser to get a fresh pair of boxers out. He hesitated with the drawer still open – should he lend her a pair? Her knickers (and his Dolly shirt) were still downstairs – pulled out a second pair and flung them on her side – the bathroom side – of the bed. He supposed she could just put her dress back on commando— don’t think about that – or he could go and get her knickers for her but—

He was pulling his boxers up just as the door opened and Honey came out of the bathroom, hair wet and skin glistening. Charlie chewed on his lip, a weak attempt at hiding another smirk. He turned, half-pretending to give her some privacy as she decided what she wanted to wear, and fished out two t-shirts from another drawer, throwing the second on the bed, then picked up his towel and rubbed at his damp hair.

He cleared his throat softly. “I— erm,” he stopped drying his hair and pushed it back from his forehead – the result was half of it sticking up at opposing angles. He wanted to reiterate, somehow, that he was definitely going to break up – whatever – with Alannah, so what they’d just done wasn’t cheating because he’d already decided to end things, but that he still sort of had to go to this match before he did.

Alannah wasn’t the only person that he would see at the game, though. He glanced at Honey warily. He shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t help himself; “What happened? With—” he’d been about to say ‘Harold’ but now wasn’t the time to joke about it, he supposed.

Honey needed a few more minutes to rinse out her hair — it had been a mostly legitimate shower, anyway — but she watched Charlie as best as she could through the fogged up glass door, an obvious smirk on her lips. She might have been lingering to put off the inevitably awkward exit she’d have to make There’d been that weird hug last time and she didn’t want a repeat; never mind that any option was going to be awkward because he’d be heading out to see her ex and his soon-to-be-ex and they’d just done that only because she had mentioned her break up in the first place.

It was easier to not dwell on it, go back to smirking about their morning, the kitchen, how she hadn’t hated it all as much as she had tried to convince herself she would. She turned the water off and wrung out her hair before she stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself and giving her hair another squeeze.

She stepped past her small pile of clothes from last night and opened the door, following the steam out of the ensuite. She’d just missed a good view — he had already pulled on his boxers — but she gave him good once over, slowly, obviously. This was easier now, with everything out of the way, closer to how things used to be, not second guessing what she should or shouldn’t do next (or not as much, at least; they’d gotten this far the last time before he’d mentioned dating).

“Hm?” Honey brought her gaze up, making a halfhearted attempt to hide her grin at the sight of his hair. She had ignored the shirt he had tossed over until then and she glanced down, figuring he was trying to draw her attention to it now. She wasn’t planning to stay, though, and thought putting on another of his t-shirts might be too indicative of that and— oh. 

She glanced back up at him; he didn’t need to finish the question for her to know what he was asking. “Why, do you need tips for Alannah?” She’d probably deflected too much but it wasn’t any of his business, anyway. She rolled her eyes — to dial back a bit of the seriousness — before undoing her towel to properly dry her hair with it. She turned back to the bathroom, dropping her towel next to her clothes; she grabbed her bra and put it on, grabbed her dress and pulled it over her head as she walked back into the bedroom, taking her time to cover herself.

“I’m just—“ she started, despite him not asking for any explanation— “Not really advertising it.” She went back for her socks, reemerged again with them in her hands. “The breakup,” she clarified, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull her socks on, standing up again before meeting his gaze again. “Or why.” She didn’t think she owed him after he’d told her his relationship woes a few weeks ago, anyway.

She reached for the boxers and stepped into them, looking down at herself and stifling a laugh; they were longer than her dress, sticking out past her hem. She stepped out of them again, wobbling just a bit before she managed to get them off completely. She tossed them back on the bed and looked at him again. “We’re not..” she trailed off, figuring he could follow her train of thought to know they weren’t friends; it had never been more clear than now, after they couldn’t have a cup of tea without jumping each other. “No emotions, remember?” This — not talking about her failed relationship — wasn’t why the ‘no emotions’ quip had been tossed about but it fit.

Stood in just his boxers he ought not to feel self conscious with her eyes on him, given what they’d just been doing, but it was hard not to be; he tried to keep his stomach sucked in – subtly.

He shot her a look. “I’ll give you a tip,” he told her, keeping his expression serious for about ten seconds before another, unintentional this time (honest), smirk slid across his lips. Wasn’t that how they’d gotten here in the first place? Honey undid her towel and Charlie’s dark eyes were drawn immediately to her— well, everything really, but he found himself missing her boobs the most when she turned around. When she came back she had her bra on and her dress halfway down, leaving the other half bare long enough for him to get another, lingering look (fair was fair, wasn’t his fault he had more to look at than she did).

Charlie nodded when she finally elaborated. He could sympathise with not advertising it – not that he’d gone out with the intention to advertise his but he didn’t seem to have a choice in these things anymore. “Right, yeah.” He lowered his gaze. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Shouldn’t have asked in the first place. Pillock.

He shrugged into his t-shirt and had another attempt at pushing his hair back with his fingers, a funny little smile on his lips when he saw her try on his boxers. His eyes flicked up to hers when she spoke again. She didn’t need to finish for him to know what she was telling him – he knew it; it was even more obvious now. He’d waited maybe thirty seconds from finding out she wasn’t trying with Harlan anymore before lunging at her. Not very friendly.

But she said no emotions and that threw him a little – didn’t quite fit in with what he thought they were discussing. He raised an eyebrow at her, holding back from asking her outright because that had gone so well last time they’d tried this. “I’m— I meant it, about Al,” he said. “Not telling you like… emotionally,” he offered her a small smirk. “Just saying.”

He found a pair of jeans and stepped into them. “Might avoid emotions for a while,” he said casually, glancing at her again as he fastened his zipper.

It was easier to ignore his apology than harp on about it or acknowledge there was anything to be sorry about at all; she didn’t need her reason — ‘Harlan cheated but apparently not really’ — to be some sort of defining moment for them now. (Never mind explaining cheating to a cheater right after a tiny bit of cheating was a little too much to think about now.)

He raised an eyebrow and she raised one in return, hoping she didn’t need to explain what she was getting at with no emotions. If this was going to work — and why shouldn’t it? it was all they were good for — she couldn’t bring up what had happened last time because that had ended so well. Then again, she should probably make sure they were on the same page and he wasn’t trying to date her again; it wasn’t such a stretch to expect that, considering Alannah so soon after his divorce and his breaking up with Alannah after the match—

And he’d meant it, about Al. Honey was torn between two extremes, clinging to all the I’m not going to date you thoughts still bouncing around her brain, squeezing all that out with relief that she wouldn’t need to request an affair this time. Merlin, she was all over the place.

But he wasn’t telling her emotionally and she returned his smirk, almost curious enough to ask what his plans were for it all; at the very least, did he realize he’d put on a Falcons grey t-shirt? She gave him a quick once over as he pulled on his jeans, decided he’d figure it out eventually.

She had fixed her gaze on his hands (and what he was doing with them) but looked up to meet his eye. “Yeah?” She wanted to take that to mean things could stay casual and she ignored the niggling feeling that maybe she should get clarification before agreeing as she shrugged one shoulder. “Me too.” A ‘while’ would probably be too soon for her to stop avoiding emotions but now wasn’t the time for a heart-to-heart conversation.

Moving around the bed, she shrugged again as she got close, hands still to herself. “He’s kind of protective of her—“ she didn’t bother with names, still talking about the two most recent people to come up in their brief conversation— “So maybe don’t do it with him in earshot.” She tapped her nose with her finger, twice, fully implying he might risk a run-in with another fist. “Y’know.”

He got a smirk back so that was a good sign -- more familiar, at least. Easier to navigate than all the second guessing and hesitations (and cuddling) before they’d resumed normal programming -- and they’d slipped into it so easily, too, once she’d finally let him in on the secret.

Yeah? "Yeah." Charlie held Honey’s gaze, almost smiled when she said me too. He wet his lips instead to cover his tracks. How convenient. He only hoped she remembered -- of course she did, it was her idea -- that he’d been planning to break things off with Alannah before he knew she’d already broken them off with Harlan. Last thing he wanted was her thinking he was doing it for her.

Honey moved around the bed, he wondered for a quick moment if they should have bothered getting dressed, but— Oh. Charlie rolled his eyes and made a soft pfft noise, grinning. Except, from what he’d seen of the other man, Harlan was built like a brick shithouse and Charlie really wasn’t keen to experience a broken nose again so soon (or ever, ideally). Still; he smirked slowly down at her. "Almost sounds like you're a little protective," he teased in a low drawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him you said ‘hi’, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He was an idiot, granted, but he didn’t have a death wish.

He licked his lips again, eyes still on hers. She really should go before they got distracted again -- they had done so well putting clothes on. Well, mostly. He was acutely aware that she still had no knickers on because they had last been seen in the kitchen but— "I— um… It's almost ten," he told her quietly, having glanced at the clock beside the bed a minute or so ago. He paused for a second before brushing past her slowly, hesitating at the door to check she was following him.

Honey rolled her eyes and mimicked his pfft. Protective? She just didn’t want to miss it (again) — Charlie’s nose, a fist, etc — if it happened (again), but he cut off her explanation before she could start it. “Wow, thanks.” There was the hint of a smirk there; she wasn’t about to admit that yes, she was worried Harlan would somehow find out about this even though he was the last person she owed anything to.

She dropped her gaze as he licked his lips, nearly regretting standing so close when she knew she had to be going. It’d been after eight when they woke up and they had wasted time on snuggles and tea and— she nodded when he said what she’d basically been thinking. Of course it’d only take her about ten seconds to get home but he was already walking away. She followed him out — not without another eye roll — and down the stairs, taking her turn to brush past him on her way back into the kitchen.

Honey had half a mind to leave her underwear behind but the other half was nothing but her mother’s voice telling her to always have a pair of clean knickers on because heaven forbid she splinch herself and wind up in St Mungo’s with everything on display— it wasn’t the time or place to hear any phantom telling offs from her mum. She pulled them on — leaving the other things on the kitchen floor where’d they’d discarded them — and turned back to Charlie, pulling her dress back down, tucking her hair behind her ears, not bothering to ask him how obvious she was on her way home from.. this.

He was lurking and she moved past him again, taking more care to brush up against him this time. She scooped up her shoes and sat on the bottom step to pull them on, realizing this was a much better exit than the last one — at least she’d had time to get all her clothes back on this time. She glanced up at him as she retied her laces. “Thanks for the tea,” she said, though her smirk hinted toward something else.

She stood and pulled him closer to her by the arm, kissing him — more of a ‘see ya’ kind of kiss than anything else — before she could process that it might be weird. For them. Maybe it was habit or— whatever; she was allowed to kiss a man she’d just fucked. She fell back on her heels, shrugging the shoulder of the arm that wasn’t still holding on to him, though she dropped that hand after another second. “Er—“ she cleared her throat. “Have fun at the match.”

She lingered for another few seconds before stepping around him — not taking too much care to do it without brushing up against him again — and pulling open the door. He took the door from her and they traded smirks before she stepped out, glancing back as he said he’d see her later. He would, they would— she turned, apparating home before she could get distracted.

[out]