[edinburgh] running in circles [charlie]

28 june 2003 // edinburgh

Honey had glanced at Charlie enough times to know she couldn’t make a second career out of being a lip reader. It’s not that she was paranoid, but he’d spent enough time with her brother that night -- minus whatever opportunities he took to chat up some of her more attractive (or more inebriated) guests -- that she couldn’t worry a little. He’d been the one to tell Fergie they’d been writing -- before they needed a reason for Charlie to be invited to her birthday party -- and had given Fergie enough reason to think that had something to do with her break up a few weeks ago. (It hadn’t but it’d been easier than tell him the real reasons). Charlie only needed a few minutes to ruin something before there was really anything to ruin.

But -- she reminded herself with another drink -- she wasn’t worried or stressed about anything other than turning thirty. She wasn’t thirty yet, mind -- Grace would be thirty at midnight but Honey got to wait until Wednesday -- but every glass of gin made it easier not to think about. She chanced (another) cursory glance across the pub, played dumb with a “What?” when Grace elbowed her in the side, downed the rest of her drink as if to prove she was paying proper attention to the most important part (alcohol) of the evening.

“Gonna get us some shots,” she announced to no one in particular, at that point in her alcohol journey. Honey excused herself and moved toward the bar; she really had gone with the intention of getting another round but was quickly distracted by the sight of her brother wandering through the crowd -- with no Charlie. She let herself look round for a second, saw him -- Charlie, not her brother -- heading out the door, and hesitated for another second before taking her chances with Grace’s judgemental face (not quite as judgey as Fergie’s, but still).

She might have said something along the lines of ‘That’ll never happen again’ when filling in her best friend on everything that had happened over the last few weeks, but just talking fit in nicely with her and Charlie being just friends. Plus, he was leaving without saying goodbye -- or happy birthday -- to her; Honey stepped out onto the street, fully prepared to whistle for his attention before he could get too far away, but he was right there, just a few paces away from her. She wondered for half a second if she could slip back inside without being noticed but it wasn’t fully dark out and she had sort of done herself up for the night to be noticed so there went that option; “Hi,” she said, as casually as she could manage -- not very -- after realizing too late that in her indecision about what to do she had ended up staring at him.

But he smirked at her and she shrugged, giving up hope for figuring out another excuse for being out on the sidewalk. “Thought you’d left.”

@Charlie Baker

In theory, coming to Honey’s (and Grace's) birthday party hadn’t seemed that complicated -- they were friends now, after all -- but in practice it took a little more convincing. Fergie hadn’t hidden his skepticism, but Charlie thought he had done a decent enough job of covering their tracks -- mostly, anyway. He didn’t know anyone else here, really, aside from the birthday girls and Fergie, so he’d been hovering around the Scotsman most of the night to use him like a sort of ward -- it worked, for the most part, though one or two of Honey’s (or Grace’s -- he wasn’t sure) friends had still found a way to insert themselves into conversation with him (naturally).

But, it wasn’t a bad thing for Fergie to think Charlie was unafraid of flirting with Honey’s friends in front of her -- more proof that they were ‘just friends’, right?

Charlie glanced across the room and his eyes quickly sought the birthday girl out -- or, birthday girls, he supposed; they were practically joined at the hip tonight, which also wasn’t helping. He didn’t know how much Grace knew, outside of the fact she might have been warned he could turn up. He’d brought her a bottle of champagne, because he was trying to be nice, and because he had no idea what she drank and everybody liked champagne for a celebration -- that was his logic, anyway. Honey’s present had had a little more thought put into it—

Fergie announced, seemingly out of nowhere, that he needed to use the toilet, so Charlie decided to take that as an opportunity to nip outside for a cheeky smoke. He slipped between guests, finishing his drink and setting it down empty on a table on his way outside.

Charlie turned against the breeze and lit his cigarette, cupping his hands to protect the flame from his lighter. He inhaled deeply, then turned to exhale just as Honey stumbled gracefully out of the door. She looked at him like a doe caught in headlights.

He smirked. “Hi,” he echoed back at her. Charlie tried not to react too visibly (smugly) to her honesty because that sounded an awful lot like she would have been disappointed if that were the case. Their tentative arrangement was too delicate for him to be too cocky about things, yet, so he swallowed his original response in favour of something marginally more subdued; “Think I’d leave without saying ‘happy birthday’?” he smirked again, taking a drag from his cigarette. He exhaled away from her, downwind, before turning back to give her an appreciative once-over, toe-to-head. Pink, again. His lips twisted into a funny little smile. “Enjoying yourself?”

“No,” she said, contradicting what she’d said a second ago; she absolutely did think he’d leave without saying ‘happy birthday’. She shrugged one shoulder, playing it safe from a proper distance because it wasn’t lost on her that her brother was on the other side of the wall (and for not the first time, oops). He looked away and she smoothed out her dress, pulled her hem up just a tad, smirked when she caught him appreciating the effort she’d put into getting ready for her party; it hadn’t been for him, but--

She returned his smile with something more of a smirk, shrugging again and forgetting what she’d just decided about personal space as she took a step closer. “One of my best birthdays. Definitely in the Top Thirty.” She leaned against the wall, her hands behind her to keep any wall grime off her dress; it was compromise enough for being close, she figured.

“Are you?” She’d told him that morning that she’d probably be busy with other people and didn’t he get that she couldn’t hang around him the whole night? -- they’d only slept together on two occasions (in the past week, not total) -- and somehow he’d manage to survive without her.

The door opened to her left and a couple people spilled out; Honey waved at them, feeling a little caught out as she thanked them for coming. They walked off in the other direction and she pushed herself fully off the wall to face Charlie. “Give me one of those.” She motioned toward his cigarette; he was holding it low at his side farthest from her, and she realized after a second what it looked like she was pointing at; she smirked before clarifying: “A cigarette.”

He gave her a confused look and Honey rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to smoke it, just--” The door (behind her now) opened again and Honey dropped her voice rather than turn to look at who it was. “Better than just standing here looking like we’re having a chat.”

Honey said ‘no’, but running out here after him told him otherwise. Should he be glad he was less predictable than he’d assumed he was, or was this one of those times he would have preferred that someone might think the best of him? At any rate, Charlie was still smirking because he was an insufferable git.

He watched Honey as she moved a little closer, one eyebrow raising just a smidge because he thought she’d told him this morning to be inconspicuous and this wasn’t that -- not that he’d complain if she’d since decided the rules didn’t apply outside the venue. He laughed and took a drag from his cigarette, looking back out at the street. “That good?”

Charlie opened his mouth to say something smart about her being thirty now, but she asked if he was having fun first and his mouth hung open for a second before he closed it. “Not as much as I could be,” he smirked again, glancing at her and then keeping his eyes on hers as they met. They’d discussed this, and it wasn’t like he needed babysitting -- there was another older woman joke in here somewhere -- but it had occurred to him as the party had gone on that it might be more obvious that they were up to something if he didn’t talk to her all night despite being invited (Fergie wasn’t that naive).

A couple of people came out the door -- Fergie not among them, thankfully -- and Charlie busied himself with having another puff from his smoke while Honey waved them off. Then cornered him. “What?” He looked where she was looking -- not there, at that. He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers. His brow furrowed. “Oh.” He supposed that made sense, sort of. He smirked (again), cigarette back in his mouth, and pushed himself up off the wall to his full height, conveniently getting that little bit closer to her as he fished for his packet and lighter out of the back pocket of his jeans. He held them out.

Charlie pulled his own cigarette from his mouth between his forefingers, then glanced away as he took the packet back and returned it to his pocket. He looked back at Honey, struggling to light, and smirked -- again. “You need me to do it for you?” he asked, not impolitely. He didn’t wait for her to answer, shoving his cigarette between his lips and taking the lighter from her. Without thinking about it, Charlie gently moved her hands into place to cup her cigarette and protect it from the breeze. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before he focused instead on striking the lighter, holding the flame to the tip.

He cleared his throat and stowed his lighter away with one hand. "If Fergie sees you don't blame me," he said, fag waggling around between his lips precariously before he plucked it out and exhaled. He wet his lips. “You know, friends are allowed to just stand around and have a chat,” he told her. “Had a nice chat with Agnes inside,” he said; her name was Agatha, but Charlie hadn’t remembered that -- he didn’t need to, really, the point he was making was that he was talking to her friends (or Grace’s friends) and they wanted to talk to him, if she didn’t want to.

“No?” He could be having more fun; she could imagine how.

He smirked and she returned it, almost automatically, watching his face for a second before dropping her gaze to his hands again before taking his pack of cigarettes and lighter from him. She made a bit of a face at the lighter -- her wand was inside, kept safe by Grace (she was pretty sure -- and tried to remember the last time she’d used one-- probably also the last time she’d tried to smoke. Most of her new school mates in Geneva had smoked but she couldn’t hack it (but thankfully each and every one of them had their own ‘family’s secret brownie recipe’ so not all was lost) and as she pulled out a cigarette and passed the pack back, she realized how long it’d been since she’d thought about all of that. Nostalgic-drunk-Honey, maybe.

There were better versions of drunk-Honey; she was reminded of one as Charlie offered to help with the lighter. She didn’t say anything, didn’t want to let on that it was kind of annoying he’d offered at all but mostly she needed help, clearly evidenced by her momentary fumbling.

She glanced up as he moved her hands, meeting his eye, not paying attention to what he was doing with the lighter. She barely inhaled and it took a couple tries to get the cigarette to catch and as soon as it was lit she held it at her side, still having zero intention of actually smoking the thing -- nevermind that tomorrow’s hangover would fuck with her tastebuds anyway so using that as some sort of excuse didn’t hold much weight but whatever.

Charlie mentioned her brother and she rolled her eyes quickly, letting her gaze settle again on his face, his lips, back to his face in general. “As if he’d believe I did anything I didn’t want to, anyway.” Like Charlie, she thought with a smirk, glad he hadn’t put any space back between them (thought they probably should have if this charade was supposed to fool anyone). She raised an eyebrow; “You friends with Agnes now?” Honey had no idea who Agnes was or how Grace had managed to make so many friends that weren’t Honey (and why she would want to, anyway) and was more distraught over that than the idea of Charlie talking to anyone. There was an opportunity for another tip joke, somewhere, how he couldn’t get past chatting with Agnes, but she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to try to be funny.

There was the urge to touch something -- not like that -- but being this close and keeping her hands to herself was a struggle. “Thanks for coming, anyway,” she said instead, unintentionally hinting at the double entendre. He’d been to Scotland twice in two days, for her, and there was also them, twice in a week and she should probably be more concerned about that but she wasn’t worrying-drunk-Honey now, either.

Charlie tilted his head in a silent touché; lately he’d been very focused (privately) on what he didn’t know about Honey, he felt a little bubble of pride (really, very miniscule) that he at least knew she was too stubborn and independent to ever do anything that wasn’t of her own free will -- him included (that bubble might’ve swelled just a tiny bit more in realisation).

“Could be,” he said casually, letting out another concentrated puff of smoke away from her. He didn’t particularly want to be, but it didn’t sound like he’d be going home with Honey tonight so he was going to keep his options open. Agnes wasn’t as old or unattractive as her name suggested. Not as attractive as other options, he thought, giving Honey another cursory glance, lingering on her bare legs.

Charlie smirked, held his cigarette just in front of his mouth as he replied; “Thanks for inviting me.” He took another drag before tapping the ash off the end, grinding it into the footpath (just incase). He glanced back up at her, down at her untouched cigarette -- she really wasn’t going to smoke it -- then over her shoulder as someone else came through the door.

He waited for her to wave them off and turn back to him -- might’ve silently stepped a little closer while her back was turned -- before speaking again. “How long before someone notices you're missing your own party?” he asked, delicately taking her cigarette from her and swapping it with his own so it at least looked like she was smoking it -- and maybe so they could stay out here a bit longer while he finished the new one.

She heard the door again, turned to look before realizing she had the option to just.. not look. It wasn’t obviously her standing there, if she just kept her back to the door; there were plenty of other gingers in Scotland. But she was already looking, returning their wave with the hand holding her cigarette, not doing much else. They were more Grace’s guests, anyway.

Honey twisted back to Charlie, blinking a couple times to refocus. He was closer than he’d been a few seconds ago -- was she wobbling that much already? it was still early -- and Honey might have leaned into it, taking another half step forward. She’d been about to answer him, ask him how long it would have taken him to notice, before she got distracted by what he was doing instead. His fingers brushed against hers -- she glanced down at their hands -- as they traded cigarettes. She caught his eye again with a smirk.

“It’s a joint party so I’ve twice as long before someone notices.” It meant nothing, really, not really an answer. But it wasn’t like there were only ten people inside (and not everyone was there for Honey) so it wasn’t obvious. Grace thought she was getting another round of drinks but it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d gotten distracted on her way to find the bar and she didn’t think her mate’s mind would immediately jump to Charlie being the distraction. Fergie might notice his mate missing but he had no reason to connect that to her missing as well -- or, he did, but Honey was ignoring that -- so--

She should probably just take advantage of the situation while she could because he (annoyingly) wasn’t wrong and she should be getting back and this was probably as alone as they’d be all night. She blinked, realized she’d been staring at his lips as she’d gone through the trouble of convincing herself to-- she glanced up, caught his eye for half a second before she stepped in, closed her eyes, and kissed him. She had one hand on the wall, the other holding her cigarette low at her side; it was less effort to reach him -- she didn’t wear heels too often -- and she didn’t need to pull his face to hers. But she didn’t like not touching him; after a couple seconds the hand on the wall was on his waist, fingers applying less-than-gentle pressure. She needed to condense a night into a couple minutes, she figured.

Twice as long. Charlie smirked, wishing that were true. He supposed she was at least half-right, they’d have a little more time than if she were the solo birthday girl, but not enough—

She was staring at him, or his mouth, rather -- he couldn’t quite work out if it was because he was smoking and that’s where the movement was or— who was he kidding? It was Honey. He plucked his cigarette from his lips and exhaled, eyes on her, keeping his hand low long enough for Honey to meet his gaze and make her move.

Charlie kissed back, his free hand wrapping loosely around her hip at first, then tighter as he felt her fingers on his waist, pulling her with him against the wall. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, wondered absently what about this was being discreet, wished his other hand was free but made do and let the one on the small of her back slip lower, over her backside—

The door opened (again -- how dead was the party inside that so many people were leaving already? Or did Grace just have boring friends?) and they broke apart hurriedly, Honey smoothing her dress down, Charlie keeping his upper back resting on the wall because he couldn’t go anywhere else. False alarm, it wasn’t Fergie. Charlie took a drag of his cigarette, smirking (again) at Honey.

Maybe he wouldn’t chat up Agnes, but that didn’t mean he was going to leave without something on the cards. This time around things were different, and he respected what Honey was asking of him without asking it -- neither of them wanted this to be public, and that suited him fine (there were other Agneses to chat up at other parties, and having a public thing with anyone wouldn’t help). “What are you doing Wednesday?”

This was better, hands on each other. She kept hers on his waist as he pulled her to him — there was nowhere else to put it, or not while they were still in public, anyway — fingers digging in as he backed up against the wall. She leaned into him, pleased he wasn’t trying to be anymore discreet than she was (if his hand was any indication).

She could almost forget she was outside, in the fading daylight, with Charlie— almost. The door banged open and Honey pulled back quickly, smoothing her hand over her backside, pulling her dress down where it’d been riding up (or being pulled up). She was halfway between hiding her cigarette-holding hand and not, torn between pretending they’d just been having a smoke and pretending she wasn’t even holding the thing. It didn’t much matter; she had no idea who the people were but she waved her free hand anyway, unable to shake her customer service smile until they had walked off in the other direction. She turned back to Charlie, caught his smirk, and rolled her eyes.

She ran her thumb under her bottom lip almost absentmindedly, attempting to clean up any lipstick smudges, hoping he’d stop her before she went back in the pub with any obvious signs of whatever. Maybe she should find a mirror. Or maybe they could revisit this when it was properly dark out (goddamn sun).

“What?” She had been looking at him without really focusing, but she met his gaze. “Oh.” Her birthday was Wednesday; it didn’t seem like that was what he was going for, not after what they’d just been doing. He had zero reason to think her birthday wasn’t today — she’d been saying ‘It’s my birthday’ all night whenever she felt the urge (usually when having a shot, or a hug) — and she chewed on the inside of her cheek for a second. “I’ve got plans.”

She waited a beat (and a frown, on his part). “Thursday?” She reached around him, putting her cigarette out on the wall, officially giving up at her not-so-earnest attempt to be sneaky. “Thursdays are better for me.” She didn’t think he was asking about every Thursday, but it certainly worked as general sort of rule.

Charlie’s attention was drawn to Honey’s thumb, tidying her lipstick – realised in that moment that he might have acquired red lips of his own in the process of kissing her and brought his hand up to wipe at his mouth, just in case.

She had plans. He frowned softly – wasn’t like she wasn’t allowed to have plans, but, well, he’d prefer it if she didn’t, or if they were with him. Could have been with Fergie, he supposed, but why not just say that if it was? He was about to shrug it off, tell her not to bother, when she counter offered with Thursday; he glanced down at where she was putting out his (unfinished – waste) cigarette, then back up. She’d moved in closer. “Thursdays,” he repeated, not missing the plural. He could do Thursdays.

He held her gaze for a second, gave the rest of her face a quick once-over and in doing so noticed a bit of lipstick smudge she’d missed; he quickly propped his cigarette between his lips, then reached out to rub at the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

He realised what he was doing mid-rub, and dropped his hand quickly, clearing his throat. “You missed a bit,” he told her, standing up straighter and busying himself with putting out his (traded) cigarette, suddenly not so concerned about wasting it. “Shall we—” he paused – they could hardly walk back in together; “You wanna go in first?”

“Thursdays,” she said (again), though not without a smirk (again). That’d be four times in two weeks she’d seen him, if she was counting tonight, but she supposed she could worry about that after Thursday.

She caught his eye and for a second she thought that maybe they could steal a few more minutes, definitely thought that when he reached for her face. She closed her eyes, anticipating his kiss— and opened them as soon as he had swiped his thumb along her lip.

While she appreciated the gesture — she had just been thinking about not heading back in with obvious signs about her — it was too familiar, which was.. unfamiliar. He seemed to realize the same thing the next second; he dropped his hand and Honey sucked her lips in, nodding as he told her she’d missed a bit. “Thanks,” she said quickly, rubbing at the spot he’d just abandoned.

“You, er—“ she pointed just above her own upper lip. “Just there.” He must have smudged his smudge outward when he had tried clean himself off.

Shall we— Honey glanced up and caught his eye, her eyebrows raised, curious where he was headed with that question and how best to let him down whenever he managed to ask it. Or.. that. She shrugged one shoulder and tilted her head toward the door, as much an answer as she was going to give. “We were just having a chat,” she said, soft smirk giving away that she was well aware she was full of it.

She walked toward the door — slowly — and didn’t look at him when she said, “At mine, Thursday.” One hand on the door she looked back at him and added with a small smile: “Same time as yesterday.” She gave him another quick once over — and let him have one, too — before she pulled the door open, a few steps in before she loudly declared, “It’s my birthday!” People who weren’t there for her party were still in the pub and she paid no mind to their looks of annoyance; mostly she just wanted to find Grace, who yelled back her own, “It’s my birthday!” That was the direction Honey headed, figuring Charlie could sort himself out.

[out]

He was avoiding looking at her, which was probably making it more obvious that he'd made a friendly faux pas, until she drew his attention back (again). It took him half a second to catch up, still thinking about what he’d just done. "Oh," Charlie brought his hand up and wiped his thumb across the spot above his top lip where Honey had gestured to. "Thanks," he mumbled.

When he looked at her again she was shrugging, smirking. His lips pulled up at one corner. “Right, silly me.” He rolled his eyes softly. She led them towards the door and Charlie made the most of his last opportunity to get a good look at her backside before they were back in a room full of witnesses. She paused just short of opening the door to confirm -- again -- Thursday; hers, same time as last night. He nodded, only making half an effort to hide the smug expression that had slid onto his features.

Honey opened the door and announced her (their) return to the party. Charlie tried to slip in unnoticed behind her -- helped, minorly, by Grace drawing half the attention when she parroted Honey. Still, they’d only been having a chat, what did he have to hide? He scanned the room quickly to try and find Fergie and a strong drink -- in no particular order.

[ end ]