sugarcoat. [tag; fergie]

Poesy thought she was lost.

She'd left Diagon Alley what felt like ages ago and now, she was rather late. Did house parties have a set time of arrival? It wasn't that Fergie's directions were wrong, she was just easily distracted. The petite blonde wasn't really that familiar with this part of town but, since strolling through it, it seemed pretty clean. It had shiny office buildings and gorgeous Georgian houses with a few green spaces in between. He'd done well for himself.

Checking the address again, she wobbled on her heels as she counted down the house numbers. It was really nice of Fergie to invite her to his party, especially since he'd had to endure the car crash of her own. Thankfully, the vino seemed to have blocked most of it out but she was still haunted by her crying (or did she cry when she got home?), trying to clean up her spilled drink with her shirt and her incessant babbling about pasta. Which led Poesy to find his birthday gift.

Turning up to a birthday party without a gift seemed to be the way of the world in these parts but she had to turn up with something. In her hands was a small box, filled to the brim with different types of brownies - salted caramel, raspberry ripple, jaffa cake, fudge, mocha and even a Guinness cheesecake variety. They were all cut into small neat squares and the box was tied up with a ribbon. Inside his birthday card, she'd folded her handwritten pasta recipes.

Poesy pulled up to a stop outside the building and she politely pressed the doorbell. It was a gorgeous night in the late summer. The wind was warm and the sky was turning into a watercolour dream of pinks, oranges and purples. She waited for an answer but she could hear laughter coming from within.

Cautiously, she pushed the door and found it was unlocked. Stepping in, she closed it behind her, shifting her bounty as she followed the noise. Finding the correct number, she knocked again but it likely went unheard.

The potioneer stepped in and the place seemed full. It was only maybe ten or so people in here, people she didn't know, but Fergie's flat was a bit...poky. Bijou her mother would say. Instantly, she flushed pink as a dozen sets of eyes swung around to look at her. "Hiya," she said with a little wave. The conversation struck up again and she let out a quick sigh of relief. Someone with a kind face offered her a bottle of something and she took it without hesitation with a smile of thanks.

The place was warm - literally and figuratively. Poesy stepped in further, about to introduce herself to the guests when the man of the moment arrived. With another cheery wave that almost sent her beer sloshing, she grinned. "Happy Birthday!" She called as she scuttled across the room, kissing his cheek briefly and pressing his gift into his hands. "How have you been?" She asked, eyes bright as she looked around.

She spotted a picture in a frame tucked away. It looked to be of his mum and dad and his older sister, somewhere sunny. Poesy relaxed as she smiled, wondering if Fergie was going to do anything "normal" like going out for a meal with everyone to celebrate at another time. She was actually pretty jealous. "It's nice to see you," she added warmly. "How's your special day been so far?"



@Fergie Flume

Fergie returned from the bathroom only to have another beer handed straight to him -- he didn’t remember finishing the last one, but that didn’t mean he’d abandoned it somewhere… probably. Honey had started him early and he hadn’t eaten anything substantial yet -- he’d been eyeing up the sausage rolls each time they’d circled the room but somehow they’d skipped right past him every lap. He had had some cake (carrot, his favourite) because Honey had at least made sure he got a slice while she told him how much it had pained her to put a vegetable in cake (was it his favourite because he knew how much it annoyed his sister? Absolutely).

He did a quick scan of the room, stopping and zooming back when he spotted a new -- familiar -- face in the small crowd. Fergie met Poesy in the middle of the room, his arms out less hesitantly this time (beer did wonders for his social skills) to pull her into a hug. “Hi.” He had not been expecting the kiss on his cheek, which meant he hadn’t been quick enough to give her one in return and was now wondering if he should but— too late, too obvious. Too preoccupied, then, with the box she had handed off to him mid-embrace. “You didn’t have to—” he started, saw the expression she shot him and shut up, smiling with rosy cheeks. “Cheers.” How had he been? “Aye, good,” he told her. “You?”

“Yeah, me too— I mean,” he grimaced, flushing pink(er). Maybe he should ease up on the beers a little but he was having such a good time -- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tipsy. Tiddly. He was drunk, was what he was. “Thanks for coming,” he beamed.

“Aye, good.” He blanched; he’d already said he was good, now his day had been good, too. Surely he could do better than good? He— he glanced down, spotting the beer in her hand. He couldn’t remember ever having seen Poesy drink beer. She’d drunk a lot of wine on her birthday (which she was perfectly within her right to do), but… He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers. “Do you—” He glanced down at her drink again, wrinkled his nose; “Follow me,” he told her, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen and promptly slipping between people to lead her there.

He set his box -- present -- and his beer down on the counter, turned and pointed at her cup. “I can— I have wine?” he offered. “Or gin, Honey likes gin.” It was quieter in here -- marginally -- less crowded -- just them, right now -- which was nice but also a little bit more intimidating. Made worse by Lysander walking in the doorway, seeing them, then doing an about-turn and walking right back out. Very subtle.

Fergie bit his lip, went to reach for his drink, spotted his present again. “Can I open it?” he asked, lifting the lid to peek inside before officially being given the go ahead and— “Ugh,” he groaned longingly, pushing the lid further open. “Did—” He probably shouldn’t ask if she made them, just in case she didn’t (not everyone grew up in a sweetshop -- and furthermore, he had and he was hopeless at baking). “These look fantastic,” he said instead.

As he insisted she needn't bring a present, she shook her head quickly. Poesy still thought birthday parties included gifts because she was really an eight year old girl. "I wanted to," she added quickly and kindly and really, it was no bother. Not getting gifts on her own birthday had weighed heavy on her mind and she was sure it wasn't really a big deal and she was determined he wouldn't suffer a similar fate but she hoped she hadn't accidentally made him feel awkward.

"Yeah, not too bad, thanks," she answered Fergie with a bright smile that stretched further as he spoke - he was drunk. And adorable. Rather than mention it, she flashed a grin as she nodded, sparing him as she looked around.She needed to catch up. "Thank you for inviting me," she replied kindly. "Sorry I'm a bit late. London," Poesy said with a playful eye roll as though the vastness of the city explained her inability to read a map.

She followed his gaze down to the bottle of beer she was holding and he was right - she didn't drink beer. She'd just been too shy to ask for anything else. "Yes," Poesy nodded quickly when instructed to follow for a drink, placing the bottle carefully on one one of the shelves as she passed.

The kitchen was quieter and cooler and the sudden appearance of one of his friends made her look up. Poesy had raised a hand and was about to wave before he made an about turn and abruptly left. Clearing her throat, she ran it through her hair in an attempt to not look so odd. Fergie mentioned his sister and Poesy had met her once, many moons ago and her memory was hazy. She recalled her being beautiful and effortlessly cool so naturally, she'd been intimidated.

"Gin would be great," the petite blonde said quickly with a smile. "I'll get it," she remarked before she realised that she had no idea where anything was and mixing drinks at a party was never a good idea. Stepping around him, she opened a couple of cupboards, feeling her way around the space, before locating a glass and a plastic bottle. Uncapping it, she gave it a cursory sniff before detecting it was lemonade - that'd do as a mixer. Now where were the spirits?

Quickly, she laughed. "Of course you can open it," Poesy insisted. "It's your birthday, you can do anything you like." The noise Fergie made unexpectedly made her blush quickly, the tips of her ears and her nose quickly turning pink as she watched him open his gift and let out a breath she wasn't aware that she'd been holding. "Make them?" She offered helpfully with a smile and a nod. "I did, yeah. Sorry. You might have been my guinea pig," she joked.

She stepped towards him and leaned against one of the kitchen counters, keeping a polite distance away from him. "Thank you," she added with a smile, genuinely pleased he liked them. Poesy had never been a great gift-giver. Her heart was in the right place but she always seemed to fall short. Figuring out what to get Fergie had been particularly difficult. She wasn't sure if they were friends or acquaintances or potentially neither. They were just kind of...floating.

It always felt like she needed to say something, which was ridiculous because they were different people now. It was more like a niggling sensation, not intense, but persistent. "Have one," she encouraged him with a smile as she held out her glass to him for a top up. "I could use a professional eye," she smiled again, turning her head to see someone lingering by the door frame but trying to remain inconspicuous as they changed direction last minute, a leather jacket catching her attention. Poesy frowned as she blinked. "A friend of yours?" Poesy asked, jerking her head towards the door and she blinked quickly as recognition dawned; she'd definitely met that man before.

“Gin,” he repeated, his eyes quickly darting to find the bottle, before she said she’d sort herself out. Fergie chewed on his bottom lip and watched her for a moment before becoming very interested in his present (he was hungry and they looked very edible).

“Yeah? No, they look amazing.” He paused and located the gin for her, halfway to pulling the cork out of the bottle when she encouraged him to try one. He offered her a quick grin and reached in to pluck one out -- it was his birthday, and he hadn’t had any of those sausage rolls yet and he needed something to soak up the beer. He had a proper look at the brownie, now that he was able to hold it almost right in front of his face (tiddly squinting) -- looked like it was chocolate and raspberry -- he bit into it and frowned, chewed a little and then let out a noise of distinct pleasure. “Mm, that’s so good,” he told her after swallowing. “Don’t tell Honey,” he said, “she’ll think you’re coming for her business,” he grinned.

Fergie shoved the rest of it in his mouth without really thinking about it (his sober self would be horrified), wiped his hand on his trousers and picked up where he’d left off with getting her some gin. “Hm?” Fergie was mid-pour when he glanced up at Poesy, then at the doorway— then realised he was still pouring. Oops. That was more like a double-double now. He looked back at the doorway, now vacated (hopefully Charlie hadn’t gone to say hello to his sister). “I—” Poesy had never been a fan of Charlie in school, especially after he had unceremoniously dumped their housemate Maisie, which was what he was assuming was the problem. “He’s...” Fergie had wanted to say not that bad, but that didn’t really fit with how the other man had been acting lately. Really, he thought Charlie needed help, but he didn’t want to get into that now, with Poesy. He shrugged, mostly to himself, and handed Poesy’s glass back to her.

“How’s the café going? I popped in last week but it might’ve been your day off.” He met her gaze and then felt oddly like he’d accused her of something. Or admitted to something. Something felt off, at any rate. He cleared his throat and looked around for his drink, spotted the brownies again and decided he better hide them for later, just in case someone thought they were party food. He closed the box and then moved towards Poesy, stopping right in front of her. “I— excuse me,” he touched on her arm softly to encourage her out of the way, opening the cupboard she’d been blocking to hide the box inside a baking dish.

He turned back to face Poesy and gripped the edge of the counter. “Don’t want to share,” he said, by way of an explanation.

She caught Fergie's gaze and offered him a quick smile, imagining he was staring because the booze was starting to kick in and he'd zoned out - the same thing happened to her. "Oh thanks," Poesy laughed, pleased and flattered. They weren't that fancy.  In fact, they looked rather...rustic. A little too sweet, a little too soft, a little off but they were made with love and wasn't that the magic ingredient? (It wasn't, it was actually cocoa powder). It was cheaper to make things herself than order them already baked.

Her smile widened to a dimpled grin and she blushed again, this time from pleasure rather than embarrassment. "Phew," she joked, wiping imaginary sweat from her forehead. "Panic over." But then he mentioned his sister and Poesy's eyes grew comically wide in jest. "Oh no way," she laughed, holding a hand up to him in surrender. "I'm staying firmly in my lane," she grinned. At Fergie's insistence, Poesy made the motion of playfully locking her lips and throwing the key over her shoulder. Maybe it was the drinks but she felt fizzy and light.

The bubbles swiftly popped as he all but confirmed Charlie's appearance. Poesy fixed her face too late as her smile slipped. Now, she thought Charlie was an intrinsically talented man and she'd be foolish to dispute that. He sold out stadiums and wrote some actually pretty decent songs. She liked that "Honey" one and had not made the connection. But he had some bad press and it further cemented the fact that she'd always thought him a bad apple. She could hide behind the excuse of Girl Code but in fact, Charlie simply wasn't her kind of person. Fergie handed her cup back and she smiled, grateful. "Amazing, thank you," she gushed before she took a sip.

It was pure gin. Poesy swallowed and while she managed not to cough, her eyes did water. "Ooh wow," she remarked, blinking three times in rapid succession. "I'm definitely coming to this pub again," she joked lightly as she drank some more. It was no worse than her grandfather's measures. And he actually used to work in a pub.

Swallowing, Poesy nodded eagerly. "Good!" She gushed excitedly, her pretty face shining. She grinned. "What's one of those?" She smiled absently, a twinge of regret at realising she had a missed opportunity to see him. "I must have been painting," she went on to explain to Fergie. "I'm having a bit of a refit," she winced. "And a change of colour scheme and signage. I think I was knee deep in "Borrowed Light" paint," she explained, her soft Welsh lilt changing to a cracking impression of Received Pronunciation at the shade name on the paint tin.

"Sorry I missed you, though," she tacked on genuinely as she drank her double-double gin. "Are you using those coffee vouchers?" She asked Fergie, hoping he was because she owed him an apology for her appalling behaviour and couldn't think of any other gesture.

"Oh. Shit. Sorry," she whispered, holding her cup close to her chest as she tried to move out of the way of Fergie as he touched her arm, but only succeeded in going the same way he was. Then she did it again in the opposite direction, staying with him as she snorted with laughter. "Thanks for the dance," she quipped with a cheeky grin, finally getting her shit together and moving away from the cupboard. The spot on her arm Fergie touched tingled pleasantly but it was definitely the gin causing that sensation.

She smiled again, moving to stand next to him as she hoisted herself up onto the countertop, her legs swinging, perhaps a smidgen too close to be labelled polite. Turning her head, she grinned down at him. "Thanks," she added, still floating on the happy cloud that he liked her brownies before she looked around the kitchen. "I think they'll be safe," she said as she drank, the gin really starting to seep into her bloodstream by now. "I spotted a bowl of Bombay mix, I'm sure they'll be much more popular," she smiled easily. "But you're good?" She asked Fergie. "Been spoiled all day like you should be?" 

Poesy’s eyes watered tellingly and Fergie gave her an apologetic look before laughing nervously at her comment. “Sorry,” he grinned lopsidedly. “You want some more mixer?” he offered, reaching for the tonic water before realising it wasn’t on the table -- had he even put any in her glass in the first place? Shit. Too distracted by her being distracted by Charlie -- at least she wasn’t that kind of distracted by him— Was she? Merlin, he hoped not—

“Yeah?” Fergie smiled, then nodded. “Know that feeling,” he fibbed -- he probably taking too many breaks from work lately, but he reasoned that he did work hard so he deserved it, or something. “Painting?” he asked, then she elaborated. “Ah, already?” He couldn’t hide his surprise -- she’d only just opened. “Trying to fit all your customers in, is it?” he smirked softly.

“Oh, s’alright,” he shrugged, nonchalantly (drunkenly). His expression gave him away when she asked about the coffee vouchers -- he grimaced. “Oh, er, I gave them to one of the lad’s in the office.” He hadn’t felt right using them after that whole… thing. “Thanks, though,” he added quickly, “You didnae need to do that, you know.” He held her gaze, swallowing softly.

Fergie let out an awkward giggle as they went back and forth in each other’s way -- then mentally groaned at the fact he’d just giggled in front of her. He wasn’t sixteen anymore, for Merlin’s sake. He cleared his throat.

When he turned back to look at her Poesy was up on the bench. Fergie’s eyes flicked to the doorway -- he could get back to the party in a minute, he supposed. “They better be," he said, and meant it -- he didn’t fancy sharing.

He watched her drink for a moment before realising he was staring at her. He moved to lean against the opposite cupboard, rolling his eyes softly with a smile. “Aye, got a few bottles of single malt.” He hooked his thumbs into his pockets and shrugged. “Birthdays aren’t as much cop when you get older.”

He glanced around for his drink at this point, then realised he didn't know where he'd put it. “Got some really good homemade brownies though,” he smirked as he pushed off from the counter to fetch a new beer from the fridge. He popped the top and hesitated before drinking; "I'm glad you came," he admitted, "really." He'd been a bit worried about her after her own birthday.

Poesy laughed in return with a shake of her head. "No thanks," she added lightly as she continued to drink. "I'll be able to catch up with everyone else now," she joked, a dimple appearing in her left cheek as she followed his gaze back to the party, not ten feet away. If she were going to be fussy, she'd ask for some ice but she was a guest, not a princess.

"I'll bet," she said fairly. Fergie must be rushed off his feet. "Do you know someone called Joanna?" Poesy asked, remembering when she'd turned up at her office and accidentally spilled her guts for no reason. She smiled again, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "Something like that," she said shyly. "I was actually decorating my flat upstairs and I had some extra paint," she explained. "I was in a rush to get it finished before I opened so now, I can see the cracks in the walls and the flickering light bulbs," she drank her gin quickly, "It keeps me busy."

Fergie faltered and Poesy tilted her head, still smiling - she'd never been able to stop smiling in his presence for as long as she could remember. "That's okay," she said softly. She wasn't annoyed. Swallowing quickly, she shook her head. "You should let me, though," she told him with a nod. It was just something small that helped to ease her conscience. He was uncomfortable taking gifts as she was. "At least they're not being wasted," she added brightly. "And I'd like to meet your work friends. I'm sure I have already."

He giggled and she laughed, not at him, but more the hilarity of the situation as she tried to keep her cup upright. She blushed quickly, the tip of her nose turning pink as she followed his gaze again to his party - she shouldn't be keeping him from it.

Noticing his gaze, she laughed, her free hand coming up to her face. "What?" She asked. "Have I got something on my face?" She scrubbed at her cheek with the sleeve of her dress as her legs dangled over the edge of the counter, grinning quickly. "Oh lovely," she gushed and she meant it. She liked whiskey but she had hers with apple juice. She didn't tell him because she felt like she was committing a crime against his country.

"You're telling me," she replied with an overexaggerated eye roll. He'd unfortunately been there when hers had fallen apart. "I could use the money more now than when I was ten," she grinned wryly. It was disappointing when she stopped receiving a monetary birthday gift as she got older, though getting any gift was a plus.

Fergie seemed to have misplaced his drink and without thinking, she held out her own for him to take instead. He decided on a beer and she grinned again, flushing pleasantly as she cradled her cup to her chest. "That means a lot, thank you," she offered Fergie a genuine smile. She liked to make things for people - handmade cards, cakes, little keepsakes. It was so nice to see that she hadn't made a gaff this time.

She paused before she drank, her cup halfway to her lips before and she forced herself to drink. "I'm glad to be here," she told him honestly. "And I'm really sorry about --" clearing her throat, she dropped her gaze to her drink, suddenly interested in the bubbles that fizzed. "You know, that." Poesy sighed heavily, reaching up to scratch her nose. "I'm really embarrassed," she admitted. "I'm not usually like that, honestly." It suddenly became imperative that Fergie knew she wasn't all that different than she had been ten years ago. "I meant to apologise but I didn't want to turn up at your office unannounced and --" she was blabbering. "Hence the coffee vouchers." She sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She hated drunk truth bombs. "And thanks for walking me home. You didn't have to do that, either. I'm much better now." She offered Fergie a smile to illustrate her point.

“What? No—” He shook his head and hung it slightly, avoiding her gaze -- avoiding staring at her again. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks warming. He still felt like this wasn’t real -- it had been almost ten years, and she’d just reappeared into his life out of nowhere. He lifted his line of sight hesitantly and smiled smally at her. Could he really be blamed?

The Scotsman laughed softly. “Aye,” he said, though more out of empathy than truth. He wasn’t struggling for money, though he tried to always be mindful that other people weren’t so lucky. He wasn’t rolling in it either, but he didn’t really think he needed more. It occurred to him that he didn’t know what he’d do if he had as much as he assumed Charlie now had. Buy a private box at Portree, maybe.

Fergie had another sip of beer--not that he needed it at this point but muscle memory was taking over--and smiled warmly at Poesy. “You’re welcome.”

It took him a moment to work out what she was on about, but when he did it was plain on his face. “Oh,” he shook his head again, “no, don’t worry about it.” He waved her off. “We’re allowed to have a bit much to drink on our birthdays,” he smirked gently, having another sip of beer and flashing her a cheeky grin in an attempt to lift the mood.

But she was still very serious; Fergie’s expression fell and he cleared his throat softly. “I—” Thank Merlin she hadn’t shown up at the Ministry, he would never have heard the end of it from Lysander. “You don’t need to apologise,” he told her quietly, his eyes darting to the doorway to make sure their conversation was still private. He looked back at Poesy and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry despite having just quenched his thirst (and then some).

A loud bang out in the living room drew his attention and he felt like the moment was gone -- what moment, he didn’t know, but it was definitely gone when he glanced back at the blonde. “I should… check on that,” he said, though made no effort to move towards the door. Everyone was still making noise so it was more than likely just one of those Weasley party poppers…

“Shall we?” he asked, inviting her to rejoin the party with him.

"Don't be," Poesy answered Fergie with a smile that matched his own and a shake of her head. It was awkward but she wasn't sure what she was expecting would happen. They'd fall back into an easy rhythm? They weren't the same as they'd been a decade ago, they were strangers. It hurt, not a lot, more like an occasional ache when he smiled. He was a genuinely good guy, a rarity into today's society - he was like a unicorn. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: should she introduce Fergie to Joanna? They'd make a great couple but the thought made her uneasy.

She relaxed and returned his smile again, genuinely touched that he'd invited her. He didn't have to, he probably shouldn't have, but she appreciated it all the same. The mood dipped a bit and she laughed, nodding along in agreement as she sipped at her gin which was almost gone. "That should be on a greetings card," she made a stab at a joke. It was inappropriate to tell Fergie that she hadn't been limiting her drinking to her birthday over the last few weeks.

Oh no. She was ruining his party.

Poesy followed the birthday boy's gaze as he looked over his shoulder, lingering a little on the people behind him having a better time than they were in the kitchen. She was such a drag. Her smile was small as she gave an even smaller nod of her head as she agreed with Fergie - no more apologising. But the loud noise snapped her right out of it.

On the counter, Poesy jumped, one hand on her chest and the other clinging to her plastic cup, her eyes wide before she laughed. "You absolutely should," she grinned, having a horrid vision  of someone smashing a lovely vase or something. Fergie didn't move and neither did she, opting instead to drain the last of her gin and toss the cup (with pinpoint accuracy) into the bin, pausing to celebrate with an air punch.

She dropped down, all ready to rejoin when a familiar head of dark hair crossed her line of sight and she stalled. "Actually," Poesy began. "I think I'll take that as my cue to go. I hope that's not rude," she asked Fergie with a smile. The party was heating up and those were his friends he wasn't spending his special day with. She didn't give an excuse. She could have said she was tired or she had work to finish or there was some sort of emergency at the coffee shop but the simple fact of the matter was that she just wasn't comfortable here.

"I had a really nice time," she insisted and the twenty minutes that she'd been here had been lovely. Poesy reached out and briefly squeezed his forearm before she stepped past him. Lingering in the doorway, she gave Fergie a nod and a smile. "Enjoy the rest of your birthday!" She commanded with a chuckle, motioning for him to come forward and back into the living room, stepping back to let him.

"I'll see myself out," Poesy announced, pointing to the door she could spy from her vantage point as she picked her way through the guests, pausing to raise her hand and give him a cheery wave before she closed the door behind her, the cool air rushing up to meet her. She could hear the laughter through the door which seemed louder now that she was on the other side of it. With a frown, she rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands before exiting, stepping outside just in time for it to start raining. Looking up, she blinked as one fat rain drop hit her directly in the middle of her forehead, causing her to scowl. "Bloody wonderful," she muttered gruffly as she wrapped her arms around herself, head bowed, as she walked off quickly in the other direction.


[done!]

Poesy jumped down from the counter and Fergie smiled, pleased at the prospect of rejoining the party -- hopefully she might make a new acquaintance or two, help her settle back into British life—

Actually. The Scotsman stared at her, a little confused. “You don’t have to,” he told her, but Poesy knew that -- she was choosing to go. He felt like reminding her that she’d only just got here (hadn’t she? They hadn’t been in the kitchen that long, surely), but he wasn’t going to guilt her into staying if she wanted to go. He wasn’t even sure why he felt like his gut was suddenly lined with lead. He looked down at his beer before offering her a weak smile, “Aye, I will.”

She was gone before he could say anything else. Fergie had another sip of his drink and scanned the room, too busy thinking about what had just happened to really see anyone until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and smiled at the brunette, happy for the distraction.

[ out ]