[paris] friends don't. [tag; sylvain]

friends don't stand around, playing with their keys, finding reasons not to leave
trying to hide the chemistry, get a little too close, we do but friends don't.

"Sorry. Excuse me! I just need to squeeze in there -- ow."

The Metro was wild. Lyra still didn't understand how it worked. There were too many lines going too many places with too many people - it was a circus. She'd been in Paris for a few months now but it was still very easy to get lost in this vast and scary place. It wasn't that people were unkind, it was more that people didn't really look up and see where they were going. A man with a heavy backpack crashed into her, sending her toppling backwards with a hiss of pain that made her rub her head. And she wasn't even at the station yet.

She loitered at the top of the set of stairs, her blonde hair messy as she chewed on her lower lip and looked over her shoulder, deciding in that moment that it was too hot and she was too tired to battle with the Parisians.

Lyra had come from work and then stopped by the shops on the way back, her string bag overflowing with bits and pieces. It was a Friday night and she had no plans, except making dinner. She thought Sylvain might have a date so she was looking forward to putting the radio on, opening the balcony doors and enjoying a glass of wine. Or a bottle.

That kiss still haunted her. Lyra told herself it was to seal the deal on the apartment but it kept her awake at night. She tossed and turned and knowing that he was sleeping so close was making her paranoid. Friend didn't do what they did that afternoon. Lyra hadn't had too many kisses but that one would definitely rank top three.

She turned away from the station entrance and walked back the way she came in a bit of a daze. Her head was down as she weaved in and out of the throng of people finishing work and spilling out onto the streets to enjoy a weekend of warm sunshine. She walked a little further and into the shadows to apparate, appearing not far from the apartment building.

Sylvain had to be out tonight. He'd mentioned a girl's name casually over a rushed breakfast a few days ago and she couldn't figure out if he was being cruel or not. Felicity or Fiona or something similar. She was in his department at the Ministry, apparently. Lyra knew she had no right to be jealous or petty. She'd said she didn't want him, so why was she mad at him? She'd cooed and nodded and made all the right noises as she fought an internal battle. But good for him trying to find a girlfriend.  This was too much. And her shoes were making her feet hurt. She couldn't wait to crack open that bottle of wine.

Fumbling with her keys, she pushed open the door and climbed the winding staircase to their shared apartment before opening that too. Seeing it empty, she heaved a sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she slipped off her shoes and dumped her belongings by the front door. It wasn't that she didn't like Sylvain (because she obviously did). It was just nice to have a private space where she could obsess over what he was doing, where and with whom, without being judged.

Wiggling her bare toes on the hardwood floor, she stretched her hands high above her head and moved side to side, forcing any stiffness in her muscles out and sighed in relief. She opened the doors and put her ingredients out on the counter as the radio turned on and she bobbed her head to the beat, singing the incorrect lyrics as she pottered about. She might even have a nice long bath that evening and really treat herself while the place was quiet.

Lyra wasn't sure what she was going to make. Maybe something Mexican, except they didn't have the spices she needed. Or any tortillas. An omelette, maybe. Or a salad. Pasta would be good, too. She couldn't decide. The things she'd bought from the shop were snack foods. Lyra hadn't quite got the hang of being an adult, yet. While she was thinking, she uncorked her wine with her teeth and poured herself a glass, almost to the top as she sipped at it, instantly relaxed and unaware that the front door had opened.



@Sylvain Chéret

The weekend was near. Nothing else was of any interest to Sylvain Chéret now. Weekend. Finally.

Since it was summer both the muggle and the wizarding theatre he played at where having a break. There were still rehearsals every now or then but it was not the busiest time of the year. And while some might appreciate having more free time, Sylvain hated it. His job at the ministry was in the foreground that way and he did not appreciate that at all. His job was dull at the very best.

Unfortunately he didn't really enjoy being at home now either because it was somehow awkward. He loved the flat and he thought he might be in love with Lyra too. Yet, as the young witch did not treat him like a potential boyfriend but like someone she'd rather not see, it was strange to share the flat with her. He'd still make the same decision, though if he could turn back time.

He wondered if Lyra would visit her family over the weekend and half hoped for it, half dreaded being alone. In order not to make her fear that he'd 'try things' she might not want, Sylvain had occasionally dropped the name of a female co-worker in conversations, suggesting that he was maybe seeing her or at least pointing out that he spent his lunch breaks with her.

What he had not told Lyra was that Félicienne was actually a sixty year old, overweight witch whose main advantage was that she had a good sense of humour. She was his co-worker in the department of magical transportation. When they both sat at their desks they were facing each other which meant that they saw more of each other than of any other person in their lives. The woman had apparently no ambition at all or else she wouldn't still be on the same level as Sylvain and the boy found it incredible that she survived so many years in this boring job. However, she was one of the very few people at the Ministry that were a decent company for a lunch break once or twice a week. She would then tell some of the rare funny incidents that had happened in the course of her decades in the job and he'd appreciate that she could keep a conversation up even when they had nothing much to say to each other.

While he could have simply taken the short cut from the ministry home, Sylvain took his time to wander through Paris. He stopped at a deli and decided to buy some nice spices for their kitchen. With basically just salt and pepper at home meals did not turn out particularly interesting. He also chose various vegetables and, for some reason, tortillas. Sylvain was not usually keen on Mexican food but the shop had a Mexican week and the tortillas were so nicely presented in the shop that he couldn't help but get them. On his way to the pay desk he also found a fine bottle of red wine that he figured he could take as well. A little shocked at the expense at the deli, Sylvain made his way home.

The weather was lovely and he figured he might read a script for one of the plays that were to start in fall on the balcony while enjoying his wine. Looking forward to this, Sylvain went up the stairs, skipping every second step as he did so. He unlocked the door and to his big surprise found that Lyra was apparently not only not visiting her family but was also already home.

He stopped right in the entrance, wondering if he should perhaps just leave again. Deciding that it would be childish to do so, the young wizard got out of his shoes and followed the sound of the radio, and Lyra's singing respectively, into the kitchen. He couldn't help but smile at her. She had not noticed him yet and that gave him a moment to take in everything. She looked adorable as usual. He usually found her particularly cute when she thought she was unobserved.

“Hey,” he said softly, hoping that he wouldn't startle her. “Did you have a good day?” He paused, his gaze resting briefly on the glass of wine. An amused smirk appearing on his face. “Were you going to cook yourself some dinner?” he asked even though it was rather obvious that she was. “I bought some spices, tortillas, vegetables, and wine... I see you've got wine too. If you don't mind me joining you, we could perhaps prepare something together?” He was strangely scared that she'd tell him to leave her alone but he still put bag from the deli cautiously onto the counter and unpacked his purchases.

Lyra didn't see Sylvain arrive and she panicked when she did. Ungracefully, she swiftly inhaled her wine and then promptly choked on it. Hastily, she grabbed some kitchen roll and dabbed at her eyes as she coughed, her wine glass jettisoned in response. "Scheisse," she swore as she cleared her throat, forcing her heart rate to fix itself as she turned to face him, her pale skin blotchy.

"Hey," she replied, clearing her throat again as she sounded hoarse. "I didn't hear you come in," she flushed pink quickly, nervously tucking her hair behind both of her ears as the radio played gently in the background. Anxiously, she chewed on her lower lip. He was close but not close enough but still too far away at the otherside of the kitchen. He didn't need permission to enter his own apartment.

"It was fine," Lyra assured him quickly, her hands going to her face in a vain attempt to try and fix her makeup when asked about her day. No one ever asked her that.  She turned and caught sight of her reflection in the kettle and almost fainted. "Yours?" She asked Sylvain and hating how forced and staccato she sounded. She hadn't meant for this to happen. After all, it was her fault - she'd kissed him and then pretended like it wasn't a huge deal.

Without him needing to ask, the petite blonde poured Sylvain a glass of wine. He'd also bought some and she smiled in return. Hers was probably a much cheaper one but she was no expert. Quickly, she held it out to him, her head tilted as she watched him unpack his bags and she couldn't help but grin. "No way," she breathed in mild awe. "You've...just bought everything I was supposed to," she smiled, twisting her body to hide the pack of doughnuts and the chocolate bar she'd bought instead.

"Let me give you some money for that," she insisted quickly as she looked around for her bag, realising that she'd left it by the front door. Lyra was happy to split the rent and utilities but they'd never really spoken about the cost of food - why would they? - they weren't a couple but it just seemed unfair that she hadn't breached the subject before.

The way he'd asked if he could help, so shyly, just broke her heart. This wasn't right. This was his home, too. He didn't have to tiptoe around her like this. Lyra parted her lips to tell him just that but somehow was unable to. Instead, she nodded. "That'd be really nice," she said quickly with a smile, suddenly fearful he might retreat into his bedroom. They really did need to talk but until then, having dinner seemed like a good place to start.

"I was just going to take some enchiladas?" Lyra asked him as she moved to the fridge to collect what she'd bought and turned on the stove. Their kitchen wasn't massive but Sylvain seemed to fill it up with his big shoulders. Lyra could cook, she just didn't often choose to. She stepped around him curtly, giving him space but not as much as she thought she should. This was a very intimate and domestic setting they were in. She liked it but she wasn't sure she should.

"It's a nice night," Lyra offered conversationally, nodding to the weather outside as she began to chop up the vegetables before she frowned. Chatting about the weather? Really? What a disaster. "What are your plans this weekend?" She asked Sylvain, unable to help herself in her desire to find out if he'd be spending it with his mystery woman. She'd be unhappy if he was and unhappy if he wasn't.

Apparently it was a shock to see him in the flat. The young wizard tried to hide a frown. Okay, he had surprised, obviously even startled her but it still felt rather awkward. He didn't like it that they were both acting as though they had to ask permission to move freely in their flat. He probably should have suspected that things would turn out this way when he had seen her in front of the building that day weeks ago. It was as though he had not rented a flat that she shared with her, as though the paper he had signed had been a request for trouble.

“I noticed,” Sylvain said. He had intended to make a light comment but he was wary. Almost scared of her reaction. He didn't want to make her nervous like that although she was so cute when she blushed and nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. He wished that they were the couple they had pretended to be in order to get the flat. If they were he'd pull her into a lip and kiss her on the lip she was just chewing on.

She answered his question and asked him about his day, too, not needing more than four words for that. Sylvain felt like running away. The tension he felt was too much. “Yeah...” he said, shrugging indecisively. “It was okay.” Did she really want to hear an answer when her own response had been so meaningless?

Since she poured him a glass of wine, Sylvain slightly relaxed. She was at least not throwing him out of the kitchen. “Thanks,” he breathed, taking the glass. He took a rather large sip, thinking that he'd teach her how to identify a good wine. This one was… decent but not as good as it could be.

“Don't!” Sylvain's reaction came quick and louder than he had spoken so far. “Don't give me money for that. Maybe we can sometime make lists and, I don't know, take the shopping in turns?” It was not really a topic the young man wanted to discuss. In fact, he hoped that she'd simply agree and that they could move on and talk about something else.

When she accepted his offer to prepare dinner together, Sylvain was relieved. He felt how the tension was fading some more and returned her smile. “Enchiladas sound awesome,” he nodded. He had no idea how to actually make them but Lyra seemed to have a plan so he was glad to assist in any way needed.

She stepped around him and he could take in her scent, feeling even more than before the desire to pull her in a hug and repeat that kiss they had shared on the balcony under the observation of Anne, the agent. He cleared his throat and was glad that she talked about the weather now. His voice sounded a little hoarse as he responded. “A nice night indeed,” he watched her movements, feeling distracted. Focus, he told himself. She had, after all, asked him about his plans for the weekend.

“I have a script to read. I thought I might spend some time on the balcony,” he hesitated, realising that she might not feel comfortable with him being there. “I also thought about visiting the Jardin des Tuileries again. I think it's one of the loveliest parks in Paris even if it might be a bit crowded this time of the year.” He was rambling and he knew it. Nervously he sipped from his wine again. “What are your plans?” He asked quickly.

Having no clue how to assist, Sylvain went to the sink to wash some of the vegetables he had brought, while glancing at Lyra every so often, trying to figure out what else he could do to help.

At Sylvain's outburst, Lyra jumped again. The reason was still surprise but this seemed a bit more intense. "Okay," she replied, softly, gently, her hands outstretched towards him in the universal symbol of surrender. "Okay," she added again, as though Sylvain had suddenly become a wild animal. She could see why he might be annoyed. She didn't really like talking about money. Sharing rent and utilities were one thing but food seemed oddly personal.

She fixed him with a bemused look before she turned her back, placing her palms on her cheeks to try and cool them down. With her back to Sylvain, she quickly downed her glass of wine. Things were odd and she realised.

"Oh wow," Lyra remarked with genuine interest as she scuttled back and forth to the fridge, ferrying ingredients before pausing to wash and dry her hands. "What's it about?" She asked as she glanced over her shoulder. A few times she'd been tempted to swing by and see Sylvain in action, but it never really seemed like the "right" time to do so. Popping in during rehearsals seemed like she was trespassing and if she wanted to buy a ticket, she'd have to ask him directly.

"Would you be able to cut up the vegetables?" She asked him quickly, pointing to the chilies, onion and peppers and the dented can of kidney beans. "You don't need to be so careful," she instructed as she set out a chopping board for him before picking up her own knife and making short work of dicing the chicken breasts.

Lyra banged around the kitchen, setting out a pan with some oil as she clicked on the heat, standing on her tippy-toes to reach the spatulas (they really needed to rethink the layout.) She paused at the mention of the park. She chewed on her lip again. "I love it there," she admitted as she smiled at him quickly. "Have you had the cheese board from the cafe in the middle?" She asked Sylvain as she tipped the chicken into the pan before she cleaned her hands and then poked it around the sizzling pan.

"It's really good," she admitted with a grin. Some girls liked chocolate, she very much liked cheese. "And the sorbet! Amazing. Especially on a warm afternoon. If you're worried about crowds, why not to later on?" She asked Sylvain curiously. "Sunsets are better than sunrises. Just dump them in there," she instructed, gesturing to the pan as she added bits and pieces to another one to make the sauce, pausing to lick a splodge of chopped tomato off her finger from the open can. Then she topped up their wine glasses.

When questioned about her plans, she shrugged casually. "Nothing major," she added vaguely as she turned down the heat of the pan and shook it, the aromas filling up the apartment. "I was just going to take it easy. Wash my hair, put on a face mask, wallow in the bath," she commented lightly as she tilted her head and watched Sylvain take over control of the pan. They had a lovely bath - enamelled and spacious. Big enough for two, really.

"Okay," she said briskly. "Grab the tortillas and lay them flat. It's pretty easy. Just heap the chicken and veg into the middle of it and wrap it up tight. Then just put them in the tray. Here," with that, she demonstrated the process with slow care, barely inches away from him so he could watch. "Then the sauce goes on top," she indicated to the smaller pan. "Put cheese on, whack them in the often, voila," she smiled brightly before her thoughts circled back.

"Do you need any help reading lines?" Lyra ventured cautiously. "We could maybe do it over dinner or something?" She left the suggestion hanging in the air, assuming that he'd even want to eat with her in the first place. "Oh, the oven," she gushed, holding it open for him.

He hadn't meant to startle her or to make her feel uncomfortable. Sylvain looked away as he saw Lyra's defensive gesture. He hadn't intended to be rash. It was awkward if they tried to figure out how much of the things he had bought were partly for her too and then her giving him some money… probably she wouldn't have the exact amount and then what? He'd have to give her the change? Could anything be more awkward than that among people sharing a place?

Sylvain was relieved when Lyra enquired about the script. It was not that he was eager to talk about that for somehow he was not. It was a little awkward as well. Seeing how Lyra had never voiced interest to see him on stage he felt that she was not really interested in his acting career and, thus, talking about it felt strange. Yet, anything was better than discussing his purchases any further.

“Oh, you know…” Sylvain shrugged. “They are auditioning for roles in several plays at the moment. Some classical pieces – even Romeo and Juliet.” He paused, unsure if she even wanted to hear more. “I also want to audition for a role in Alexandre Marineaux's new play. Do you know him? He's a play writer for the Paris Magical Theatre and I'd be delighted if I could get a leading role there. His newest play is called 'Trainée de Poudre'. I haven't really read it yet but it's a satire of today's wizarding community in Paris.”

He nodded as Lyra asked him to cut the vegetables. It sounded like an easy enough thing to do and it kept him occupied. Doing just as she had told him, he occasionally risked a glance at Lyra while keeping the chopping going. “Ouch,” he muttered under his breath as he had cut into his finger. He turned his back to Lyra and put his bleeding finger into his mouth quickly while fidgeting for his wand with the other hand. In what he hoped to be an inconspicuous way, he sealed the cut with a wordless spell. It was not done perfectly, the cut was still visible but it wasn't bleeding any longer and that was good enough for now.

“No, I haven't,” Sylvain responded to her question about the café in the middle the Jardin des Tuileries. “I might try it next time I'm there.” He wanted to add 'thanks for the recommendation' but that felt like an odd thing to say now.

“Yeah, I agree, it's beautiful there at sunset. Maybe...” his voice trailed off. He had wanted to ask her to go there with him one of these evenings but now it felt awkward. Sylvain didn't want her to think that he was asking her out. However, he had started a sentence and still owed her to end it. “Maybe we can go there together one of these days,” he suggested casually, “just as friends, of course.” He quickly grabbed the glass she had just refilled and took a sip, afraid of her reaction to his invitation.

“Sounds like you have a nice weekend planned,” Sylvain said in response to her plans. It did not sound like she was intending to do a lot but he assumed that she was happy to have some time to herself after a week at work.

As they went on preparing their meal, Sylvain followed her instructions closely, now focusing on every thing he did. His stomach was growling by now. “How long does it have to stay in the oven?” he asked her, hoping that it wouldn't be long before they could finally eat.

“Would you like to do that?” the young wizard asked incredulously as Lyra suggested to help him reading lines. “Really?” He didn't even realise that a smile spread across his face. “I'd love that. I mean, only if you're serious. I wouldn't want to spoil your Friday night.”

She'd heard of Romeo and Juliet but not the other playwright. Embarrassed, she blushed and gave a shake of her head. Lyra didn't really get the theatre. She hadn't been exposed to it a lot as a child and she'd always thought there were parallel conversations going on on the stage, weaving stories, she had to be able to read between the lines. It seemed like a full time job.

"That sounds exciting," she added warmly, glancing at him as she dried her hands. Sylvain had two sides - Ministry Sylvain and actor Sylvain. In a jarring thought, Lyra realised that she didn't really know either of them. "I hope you get it," she added, honestly. "Save me a seat," she added without thought before her attention was directed elsewhere.

Reaching out, she ripped off a piece of kitchen roll instinctively and stepped around Sylvain. "Yikes," she offered sympathetically with a wince despite him healing himself. She reached out, one hand on his wrist and the fingers of the other wrapping the injured digit in the kitchen roll and squeezing. She was close enough to smell whatever cologne he was wearing or was it just soap? Nice and warm and woody.

Lyra glanced up at him and offered a small smile. "And I thought I was clumsy," she joked as she checked her makeshift bandage and stepped away but turned around with wide eyes as Sylvain mentioned he hadn't been to that cafe. "I think it's definitely your vibe," she added casually because the last time she'd stopped by, that was the only thing she could think. And that didn't seem very casual.

"Yes." The agreement was out before she could stop it and she wanted to die right on the spot. Instead, she offered him a sheepish smile. "I'd love to," she added, trying to play it cool but realising she was anything but. A sunset stroll, a glass of wine, the potential for hand holding -- just as friends. Lyra's brain slammed the brakes on and her smile fell before she could fix her face. "Of course," she agreed with a nod of her head as she tucked some hair behind her ear and laughed in a way that didn't sound like her own. "What else would we be?" She asked Sylvain but not unkindly. Okay so the kiss was a one off and they were friends. That was...good.

Still a bit dazed, she didn't answer right away. "About twenty minutes or so," Lyra finally answered as she shut the door and got the plates and cutlery ready to save some time. There was some salad in the fridge they could use up, too.

But she got over herself pretty quickly. "Sure," she smiled with a shrug, laughing as he thought he was somehow intruding. "I had no plans," Lyra admitted, just in case Sylvain thought he was some sort of a burden. "Shall we?" She asked as she wiggled her bare toes and stepped out into the cool evening air, the trundle of traffic and the occasional ship's horn of the dinner cruises on the Seine reaching her ears.

She sat down and crossed her legs, placing her wine glass down to give Sylvain her full attention. She'd wanted to give their balcony a little makeover - some plants, some twinkling fairy lights, some fat cushions, just to make an oasis in an otherwise hectic city. "So who's your character?" She asked, one hand on her wine glass, the other resting her chin in an upturned palm.

She asked him to save him a seat. Sylvain looked at her, bemusement as well as delight clearly visible on his face. It was a pleasant surprise that she wanted to see the piece if he got the role. That was far from clear though. In fact, realistically, he thought his chances weren't really high.

Nonetheless, the idea of having Lyra at the theatre to watch him on stage was exciting and exhilarating. He almost drifted off fantasising about how she'd cheer for him at the end of his performance. However, he told himself, this might just have been a throwaway comment, nothing she was actually serious about. He'd get her a ticket anyway, of course, but he tried to keep himself from getting his hopes up.

With Lyra there was always some uncertainty in the air, a tension that was both fascinating frustrating. While he tried to stay reasonable and remind himself that Lyra did not want to be with him his body was reacting to her closeness, her touch. He was amazed how quickly she had picked up on him having cut himself. As he felt her hand on his wrist a wave of heat shot through his body and he looked at her, hope and desire visible in in his expression.

If things between them weren't so twisted, Sylvan might have risked the daring gesture of kissing her. As is was, though, he merely smiled. "Thank you." He did not respond to her comment about the clumsiness. He wasn't usually clumsy. He just hadn't paid attention to what he was doing because he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Besides her clumsiness was one of the many things he found adorable about Lyra but he doubted she'd like to hear that.

He had added the just as friends bit for her sake, thinking that was what she wanted but her reaction seemed to indicate something else now. Her initial enthusiasm for the plan of going to the park together seemed to fade just like her smile when he made the addition. Things between them just were so incredibly
complicated.

He was close to getting defensive and saying that they could also have an romantic date but, truth be told, he wasn't certain he had interpreted Lyra's reaction correctly and it would be terribly awkward to make a move like that and be told off for it. He couldn't look at her now. In his head he was replaying the scene thinking of all the alternative things he could have said that would clearly have changed her reaction as well.

As Lyra announced that they'd have to wait another twenty minutes for their dinner, Sylvain merely nodded and grabbed his glass to follow her outside. She seemed to be serious about reading lines with him and it felt strange. The young man did not mind acting on stage in front of a crowd but he realised that Lyra's presence made him nervous. It mattered to him what she thought and the possibility that she might not like his acting was scary.

"Well," he began, "for now it's just for auditions. I can still decide which roles I'd like to apply for and I haven't read the modern play yet. If you like, I'll get the scripts and... I don't know, we could have a look together and decide which roles might work?" Sylvain could hardly believe how carefully he was treating her. His experience with Lyra was just that one wrong word might spoil a whole evening and he didn't want to take a risk.

There wasn't really anything holding her back from doing what she wanted to. Previously, she could have blamed it on being duty-bound to Max but she hadn't seen him in months - he was a non-entity but Sylvain was very, very real. What was she scared of? Things being awkward? Things were already pretty terrible as it stood. They'd lied to get this apartment. Anne might have made a surprise visit. They could maybe kiss again just in case --

"That'd be nice," Lyra told him eagerly. He could get the scripts and she could use them reading lines as a legitimate excuse to spend time together. For once, she wasn't distracted by the smell of the enchiladas sizzling away in the oven because she had bigger things to worry about.

She needed to say something. They needed to discuss what had happened previously. It wasn't fair on Sylvain. This was his home, too. He shouldn't need to check when she'd be home and then relax when she wasn't. It was messed up. In a weird sort of way, she did miss him when he wasn't home. For a while, she had trouble sleeping, knowing that he was on the other side of a very thin wall.

They hadn't discussed bringing anyone else over to visit...or sleep over. It made sense that he'd want to; he was a good looking guy. Lyra was a glutton for punishment. She knew she'd pretend to be excited for his new girlfriend and say she wanted to meet her, purely because it would disguise what she thought everyone already knew. Instead of saying anything, she smiled and topped up his wine as he sat back down.

She extended her hands for the paper and flipped through them quickly but all she wanted to do was discuss that cafe idea at sunset. She shifted her weight, her front teeth resting on her full lower lip as she skimmed the pages. She looked up suddenly. "Or we could just talk?" Lyra offered softly in an unsure tone, watching him carefully and fully prepared to be rebuffed but she ploughed on regardless.

Carefully, she put the scripts down on the table just out of reach, not putting them away exactly but close enough so that they could carry on with it if he wanted to. "How's work?" It was lame and boring but she wanted to know. She wanted to know if he was dating, how his mum was, what shampoo he used, the important things. Kind of. Lyra knew Sylvain hated it. He was a good actor but she recognised a broken spirit. A desk job was nice but it was boring and repetitive and safe.

"I've got a field trip coming up," the petite blonde announced as she drank her wine. "Tenerife, I think they said," she added with a thoughtful frown and a shrug. "I've never been to Spain before. Do you think it'll be hot?" Growing up in the Swiss Alps, "hot" never really happened. She needed to buy new clothes and some sunblock otherwise she'd fry like a piglet in a skillet.

Things with Lyra had been complicated from their very first interaction onwards. Every time he was with her he felt he was on the edge. She was adorable, whenever she was looking thoughtful Sylvain wanted to give her a kiss because she looked so absolutely cute then. However, Lyra was also a surprise package. There was always the chance that things could change from one second to the next without him even understanding why.

Time had taught him to act carefully around her. Whenever things had gone badly in the past Sylvain hadn't quite understood what the hell had happened. With this past experience on mind, the young man had avoided Lyra in their shared flat, tried to be nice but distanced when they interacted. He didn't want to burn his fingers in case Lyra showed one of her typical surprise reactions.

So when his flat mate suggested that they could just talk, Sylvain was wary but admittedly also a little hopeful. Maybe they could sort things out between them, after all? They shared this wonderful flat already, it would be a logical consequence to start dating and see where this would lead them. Then again there was also the risk that they'd mess it up entirely and after that sharing a flat would be no option anymore… Things were complicated as usual even if Lyra wanted to talk now.

“Yes, sure,” Sylvain said anyway, “I'd love to have a chat. We barely talk anyway and that seems… wrong” He had been tempted to add for flat mates but he figured he could not always be that careful around her. “Thanks by the way,” he added, gesturing at the refilled glass and took it to take a sip of wine.

“Oh ugh,” Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Work? I think I managed to get the most boring job out there,” he said, offering a sad smile. “I mean, I never seriously wanted this kind of job anyway. I shouldn't be surprised. At least it pays the bills.” He shrugged, feeling as though he needed to explain why he was even bothering with such a lame ministry position.

“A field trip?” He asked, sounding sincerely interested. “That sounds great. I suppose the climate there might actually be similar to the climate in Nice and the Beauxbatons area but as I've never been there I don't know it for sure.” He offered an apologetic little smile. “So how's your job? You're enjoying it?”

Sylvain agreed and Lyra let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. It was messy. They'd lost their way. It was her faut, too. She'd always been really good at playing the blame game but lately, she'd had some time to think. She couldn't blame it all on Maximilien, despite him being the common denominator in both of their unhappiness. She'd hurt Sylvain and she didn't know how to fix it.

She decided to internalise his "wrong" comment and dissect it later when she was in bed because she seemed to find comfort in torturing herself. Instead, she smiled as he thanked her for the wine and was careful to put the bottle on the table. If there was ever a time to indulge in a bit of Dutch courage, it would be this evening.

The realisation that he hated his job wasn't a sudden one and so, she offered a sympathetic smile. He was right - it did pay the bills but at an emotional cost. Lyra hesitated. "Can I - can I ask you something?" She said softly, tucking her hair behind her ears as she wondered how to approach her question without offending him. "Why do you do it?" She asked, her bright eyes focused on his face. He must have been spending more time in the sun because he had a light smattering of freckles across his nose.

She cleared her throat. "It's really none of my business," she clarified as she sipped at her wine. Lyra hoped Sylvain didn't think he had to live up to the traditional "male" stereotype. An office job was respectable, absolutely, but it was soul-sucking. "You're just not happy," she concluded with a smile. "That's all." Following your dreams was great, providing one had financial support.

Sylvain mentioned Nice offhandedly and the image of his mother's wedding swam in front of her eyes. "Oh," she nodded. "I think I can cope if it's like Beauxbatons," she joked. She thanked her lucky stars Sylvain hadn't seen her when she'd caught a nasty sunburn on the beach one afternoon. Without meaning to, she let out a little sigh. "I miss the snow," she admitted. She missed home. She missed the mountains and her mother's cooking and her dog and Paris seemed so unfriendly when she had a chance to think about it.

Was she enjoying it? Mid wine sip, she nodded enthusiastically. "I love it!" She gushed brightly. "There's actually a lot less stargazing than I would have thought, ironically," Lyra added with a wry smile. There were charts to analyse and maps to read and telescopes to maintain. Science wasn't really a dreamy profession.

Lyra looked down at her hands as she twisted the ring around her finger, like she did when she was anxious. She didn't feel uncomfortable, per say, but there was some sort of barrier between them. Looking up at him quickly, she smiled. She so badly wanted to ask if he was seeing anyone but it was so inappropriate, it was almost painful. More painful than not finding out. She had no place to say anything about that. She could just add it to the list of things that kept her up at night.

"I'm sorry," Lyra announced suddenly, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. "For everything." She frowned, trying to encompass everything she was sorry for. She was sorry for hurting his feelings, for attacking him so angrily at the start because she'd been fed lies about him, for getting too close and then pushing him away, for taking Max's side at the wedding and not being there for Sylvain when he needed her. But she was not sorry for that kiss.

“Why do I do it?” Sylvain asked, frowning slightly. “Well, I guess I got in there easily through Alphonse. I needed a job with regular working hours and a steady income to support my acting ambitions. I mean, I would love to just be an actor with no day job but I don't think I'm there yet. Call me old fashioned but I like to have a proper home and regular meals.” He smiled sadly.

“I could probably find a different job for this purpose but I guess this was the easiest path to take.” He exhaled loudly as she said that he wasn't happy. She was right, of course. However, Sylvain could barely remember when he had actually been really happy for more than just a moment.

“Well, yeah, maybe I'm not,” he said, sounding mildly irritated. “I just feel that adult life is not just about being happy. You have to earn money to live, to afford a space to live, food, all that. Maybe some people just don't find a job that earns enough money and makes them happy. I'm living a compromise,” he clarified, “I have the theatre for my… let's call it emotional well being and the ministry job to afford the necessary things in life.” He shrugged, hoping that his honest response had not upset Lyra. He didn't know why it should but… it was Lyra he was talking to, after all.

He was surprised to hear that she missed the snow. “As we seem to be asking questions that might be a little bit out of line – have you ever thought about returning home and finding a job there? I mean, I'm truly glad you're here. Just… the city doesn't really feel like your natural habitat,” he tried to make this sound funny but it was really how he felt. The Bellefeuille graduate had never occurred to him to be a city girl.

However, at least she said that she was happy with her job. That was a good thing, for sure. After all, a job took up most of the wake hours of an adult so it was really good that she enjoyed her profession.

He was just about to break the silence with a comment on the pretty sunset when Lyra surprised him once more. “Sorry?” he asked, sounding about as confused as he felt. “Why are you sorry?” While Lyra's apology might have made sense to him had she at least hinted what she was thinking of, he truly had no idea what was going on. He felt like they were going down the rabbit hole again to a strange place he did not understand at all.

Sylvain smiled and she smiled back. He probably didn't mean to but she felt very foolish, very quickly. He was right, of course. He needed money to live. Not everyone had the luxury of chasing their dreams. "How is he?" Lyra asked at the mention of Alphonse. It seemed a million miles away now, since the wedding. It was like she'd left a small part of her life behind her. Her social life became dead as a dodo not long after the event.

Sylvain went off on a tangent and Lyra drank her wine as she blinked. That was the problem - they were just too different from one another. She knew he was right. It made perfect sense and she understood but he was unhappy and that made her unhappy. He said he was balanced. She cracked a grin. Her thoughts were all jumbled and her life plan non-existent. She was just sort of galumphing through life. "Well that's something," she replied, sounding uncertain. He hadn't offended her, exactly, but he had shifted her focus. Thank goodness he hadn't been in her bedroom and seen her stuffed animal collection because she was trying so hard to be a grown up.

Lyra offered him a wan smile. "It's not," she agreed with him as she topped up their glasses before she shrugged. "There's nothing really there for me," she answered honestly. "I love it, don't get me wrong, but winter season is our busiest at the chalet," she explained. She flicked her eyes over him as she remembered she'd never asked him to visit. The main problem was the food. She couldn't get decent raclette here. She'd recently discovered the portmanteau word hangry and she felt it on a spiritual level.

"I love my family and I love the outdoors but there's a big world out there," she smiled. "I help out at home but --" here, she paused as she weighed up her options. She didn't want to seem rude or ungrateful. "I love helping out at home and doing all the housekeeping," she went on, absently tracing intricate patterns on the table top with her index finger. "But I can't do my job there. I wanted to see if I could make it somewhere different. "She offered a dimpled grin. "I'm still wondering if I can cope. Plus, we have the apartment now and I'm not gonna ditch you."

Oh. He didn't understand.

Lyra tilted her head. "You don't feel that?" She asked Sylvain, faintly surprised as she gestured between them. "The awkwardness. You just asked permission if it was okay that you stayed here. It's your flat," she laughed but not like she found it funny.

She sighed and anxiously tapped her fingers against the table. "I didn't think it was a huge deal," she went on, avoiding his eye. "But I feel...relieved when you're not here?" Lyra finally admitted with a frown. "And that shouldn't happen so I'm sorry for that." A timer suddenly broke the silence and wordlessly, she got up.

Headed to the oven, she carefully put on her oven mitts and slid the tray out and carried it back to the balcony, placing it in the middle. Flapping her hands so the mitts went sideways, she dished some the enchiladas on to their plates and cleared her throat. "It's no big deal," Lyra shrugged, despite it being the opposite as she blabbered, sounding mad as a hatter "I just thought you should know." With that, she got stuck into her food.

"Alphonse?" Sylvain asked, suddenly all the old feelings coming up again about the wedding and Lyra and Maximilien. "I don't know. We do not actually talk a lot," he admitted evasively. The men sometimes met at the ministry but Sylvain usually just greeted his step father in passing, trying to avoid further contact and the older wizard didn't seem eager for a longer exchange either.

Lyra talked about how she felt about home and how she loved it but didn't want to live there now. The things she said made little sense to him. She was a bit like a March hare sometimes, he mused and chortled at that thought.

Then she said that they had the apartment now and she wasn't going to ditch him. That felt nicely reassuring. It was not like he depended on sharing the flat with her but it was rather nice to have such a big and beautiful place to live. He felt flattered that it apparently mattered to her and he smiled a little. In fact he was just about to bring out a toast on their shared apartment when she apologised and, after his inquiry what she apologised for, explained herself. The conversation did not exactly proceed in a similarly pleasant way then. Contrary-wise, what she said next totally came unexpectedly and made him doubt the entire arrangement again.

The conversation was getting awkward, unpleasant and tense again. Sylvain looked at her when she asked if he didn't feel it. He did, but he had always thought it was him being silly rather than her actually feeling the way she did. He was shocked to learn that she was relieved when he wasn't there and it showed in the incredulous expression on his face. Why did she want to keep the flat with him if she hated him, if she couldn't bear his presence? This was wrong. The whole flat suddenly seemed like an awful place to him. They both didn't feel home at their home. It was insane.

He was just about to respond although, frankly, he had no clue what he could say to that, when the alarm went off and Lyra sprinted back into the kitchen. Sylvain did not follow to help. He sat on the balcony, thunderstruck and speechless. Without thinking he picked up his glass of wine again and emptied it entirely. This was so absurd. What had he been thinking, tricking the agent, pretending to be Lyra's fiancé, just to get himself into such a messed up situation?

Then Lyra returned with the food but Sylvain had lost his appetite by now. He looked at her, disbelief written all over his features as she said it was no big deal. "No big deal?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "You basically told me that you cannot bear my presence in our shared home. How can that not be a big deal?" He felt like getting away now, wanted to breathe fresh air although they already were outside. It felt stuffy though, he noticed that his heartbeat had quickened in the course of this conversation.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked weakly. "If it's such a struggle for you... if you do not like having me around... I could move out, you could find a different flat mate. I don't want you to be unhappy with the arrangements here." He didn't know if that was what she wanted. Didn't know if all they had spoken of earlier, the sunset walk in the Jardin des Tuileries, her coming to a play in which he acted, had been meaningless. "I thought..." his voice trailed off. No, he couldn't say aloud that he thought that maybe they would reconnect due to the shared living space even if that had been his hope. Instead of finishing his sentence he sighed deeply.

Oh no.

Lya froze, her fork halfway to her mouth before she caught sight of Sylvain's face crumbling. It was to be expected, of course. Had he been the one to tell her all of this, she imagined she'd burst into tears.

"No, Sylvain," she began as she set down her cutlery, her pale eyes wide. "No, you're not --" she clamped her mouth shut and pressed her lips into a thin line as he spoke, biting down on the sides of her tongue as she longed to correct him. "You're not listening," Lyra interjected him rudely before she frowned. She couldn't bear his presence? "I didn't say that," she said hastily as she started to panic, the palms of her hands starting to sweat. While she hadn't said that directly, it wasn't far off.

Lyra leaned back in her seat, a hand tangled in her hair as she realised the mess she'd made. She was trying to be honest. This whole thing, whatever the Hell it was, was starting to get to her. The vibes were heavy and if he felt it, then he should have come to her, too. He couldn't blame it all on her.  If they discussed it, they could maybe work it out. He'd gotten the wrong end of the stick and she'd explained it poorly. How had they gone from making dinner to having their entire relationship hang by a thread?

She flinched as though she'd been slapped by Sylvain's next words. Why hadn't she told him? "Because I didn't think it was a big deal," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the table top that needed another clean. "I thought if I didn't mention it," she began, "I'd get over it." But then they kissed and now they lived with each other and they were running two parallel conversations - what they were saying and what they wanted to say.

"I didn't say that I hated having you around!" Lyra exploded suddenly, her eyes wide as she yelled, her hands covering her eyes they threatened to cry. "What I meant was that I don't know how to talk to you after --" The Incident.

Dropping her hands, she looked distraught. "You didn't talk to me," she told Sylvain, ignoring the fact that she hadn't spoken to him, either. They should have said something, they were both to blame. "It's been building and building and --" out of frustration, she smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead as she became more and more frustrated with herself.

"I thought it'd be cool," she finally admitted, her shoulders sagging in defeat. "Us living together. I thought we could talk and I could apologise for what happened at Beauxbatons and we could tell Maximilien to piss off but," she looked up at him and wished she hadn't. Anxiety crept in as she began to twist the ring she wore around her finger, back and forth, in a self-soothing motion. "I thought we could start over, maybe try again, but I don't know how," she finally admitted. "I'm acting like an actual crazy person," she gushed, her eyes wide in shock.

"I didn't mean to lead you on," she blushed. "And I didn't mean to blow hot and cold. I just --" she pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "I don't know how I feel about you, okay?" she told Sylvain tersely, balling her hands into fists. She liked him. She was fond of him. They'd been close. But she also thought he was a bit uptight and too much into Shakespeare and that made him inaccessible and too smart and she wanted someone who could watch TV with her in his pyjamas and mooch around the cheese markets and not get mad at her if she drank too much. She wanted easy.

Either out of frustration or upset, tears spilled out of her eyes as she reached up to wipe them away. Sylvain had asked her something she didn't want to answer and forced her to face what she'd been putting off - her feelings. She hated it. "You thought what?" Lyra prompted him as she rudely blew her nose into a napkin.