[mcg] atlas hands. [tag; honey]

the highland games/august 22nd

Hm.

Stood tall with his hands in his pockets, Will cocked his head to the side. Now, he wasn't Scottish, he was barely even anything but he'd just found out what the caber toss was all about. It wasn't how far a person threw it, it was how straight the pole handed. Confused and really rather in awe as the wooden pole landed with a loud thud!, Will clapped along with the rest of the crowd in earnest, impressed and faintly terrified at the same time. It turned out his knowledge of Scottish traditions were at an all time low.

But what he did know was the Scottish penchant for changeable weather. The party (could he call it that?) was in full swing. People in kilts and skirts, bright checked scarves draped over them as they laughed and wandered around. Will, however, self consciously zipped up his wax jacket and pulled his flat cap down a little lower in a vain attempt to look less English.

He quite liked the sound of bagpipes. They were oddly soothing and melancholy with their drone but people around were clapping and whistling in time to the piper, feet tapping to the rise and fall as the man moved his fingers. Will looked over and caught sight of the highland dancers performing in time before glancing up at the sky. It was brisk but cloudy and there was always a chance of rain this far north. But he didn't come here to discuss the weather.

The soles of his wellies made soft foot falls as his attention was pulled a hundred different ways by a hundred different stalls. He'd tried haggis and it wasn't even that bad. Will had only had a couple of tiny whiskey tasters but him being a moron didn't heed the kind man who had said that's a sipping whiskey, Sonny Jim. After he'd gotten over the initial peat-soaked whack around the ears and swallowed the burn down his throat, he was practically bouncing.

Squeezing into the queue at a stall, Will purchased a very cute and very small soft toy of the Loch Ness Monster on a keyring. It even came with its own tiny little pink bow on the side of its head. Adorable. He popped it into his pocket and it wasn't long until he saw where he needed to be.

He followed the merriment, an announcer calling spectators forwards to witness the tug of war. He saw her before she saw him. As not to scare her, Will raised a hand in greeting, distracted by her skirt before he realised that yes, she was Scottish so yes, she probably had a family tartan and yes, he was a numpty.

"Hello," he called out after the people who had been buying goods departed and allowed him through. He offered her a dimpled smile as he nodded to the fudge. "Cranachan?" He asked before deciding it was a good idea. Fudge, whiskey, raspberry, cream. Quadruple yes. "A bag of that, please," he asked Honey, taking it from her before handing her the money for it and the little keyring with a grin, hoping she wouldn't be offended and that she didn't already own one.

The place was gorgeous. As daft as it sounded, the greenery was a completely different shade than he was used to. It was lush and deep and springy, not like the finely manicured gardens he was used to in London. The scenery up here was wild and beautiful. Unable to help himself, he opened the packet and ate a piece of fudge, giving Honey the traditional "OK" symbol with his thumb and forefinger in a circle before offering a thumbs up. "Have you got a minute?" He asked, nodding his head towards a path that led away from the hustle and bustle of the games.



@Honey Bea Flume

It was only the second day of the Games and she was already running low on inventory. She knew it was a good problem to have -- people love Honeydukes and people love novelties and she had figured out how to combine the two -- but she couldn’t very well just sell out. She’d need to stay up tonight and make more to have everything ready for tomorrow, when the real crowd was supposed to show up. There’d been a constant stream of visitors to the stall, plenty of people she recognized and plenty she didn’t; Fergie was who knows where -- he’d told her but she’d forgot -- but she’d brought whatever employees weren’t still in Hogsmeade to work with her

Honey pushed her sleeves up as she pointed and explained the truffles -- again. “They’re just chocolate but they look tartan.” Should she be worried that so many people thought the truffles would also taste like tartan? They all matched what she was wearing -- her tartan, not the tartan/jumper combo -- and she’d already made a note to add some variety for next year, if only she could figure out what clan was buying the most product--

They left without buying anything -- my mate said he got a sample this morning -- and Honey rolled her eyes as they walked away, reaching for the glass of whisky she’d been nursing -- she’d started sampling early so ‘nursing’ was a relative term -- when she heard him. Mid-sip, Honey glanced around, lowering her glass and smiling as Will made his way over to her. “Cranachan,” she confirmed. He didn’t ask for an explanation and Honey didn’t press one on him, tired of how much she’d already explained to people about Scottish sweets at Scottish games in Scotland.

“What’s this?” Honey looked at what she’d been handed (not the money) and laughed, recognizing it after a couple seconds. She held up Nessie on a ring -- a keyring, she realized, though she neglected to mention she had no keys -- and glanced from it to Will. “I love it.” And she did, really. She knelt down to tuck it safely into her bag and stood up again, almost too quickly, but she had another sip of whisky and cleared that right up.

She hadn’t forgotten that she’d invited him -- it had seemed like a good idea a few days ago, considering they had finally followed through on their vague plan to ‘do things again’ -- but she wished she had put a little more thought into the timing; she really wanted to leave the stall with Fergie, but maybe it was better this way, without Fergie knowing she’d invited Will up at all. Will asked if she had a minute and she nodded, turning to Caoimhe to reassure her that she’d really only be a minute; Caoimhe probably knew better than that.

Honey came around the table with a nod, following the tilt of his head toward the footpath. “I’ve got a lot of minutes,” she said once they were out of earshot of the stall, pulling her sleeves back down over her hands. She grimaced after another second and doubled back, returning quickly with her Scotch. “Sorry—“ she held up the glass as if that was explanation enough. She had a sip and held it at her side as they walked toward the thinner part of the crowd. “Are you having fun?” She glanced over her shoulder at everything going on. “I haven’t made it too far—“ she held up her glass again as explanation— “But my parents are minding the stall Sunday, should be able to see something.”

When Honey said she loved Nessie, Will let out a breath he didn't know he was holding before giving her a dimpled grin. It was a silly little thing, lime green and fuzzy. Tourist tat, really, but he hoped it was small enough that she'd take it. He was hit and miss with gift giving, which was why his family normally just gave each other money.

"Oooh lovely," he said quickly. She had lots of minutes. He began to walk but stopped suddenly as she turned on her heel, only to laugh as she retrieved her drink - smart girl. "Which one have you got?" Will asked, interested, as he leaned over a little. He'd learned a lot about the drink in the short time he'd been here. There were five regions and he seemed to like something called Speyside. But he was a drink down and he wasn't really sure he could even say "Speyside" any more. He was also having difficulty not looking at her arse.

"I am!" He replied with a bright smile. "It's a bit intense," he added but not unkindly. "I've never seen someone throw a tree before," he explained, his dark eyes widening a fraction in slight fear. His hands were in his pockets but he longed to reach out and touch her, if only briefly. The fresh air was addling his brains. London seemed a million miles away. He wished he had some sort of tradition to belong to. This was fun and a far cry from picnics in an English garden. Honey also didn't need to know about the Dasher family Halloween tradition of carving a pumpkin and then wearing it as a hat. "I think I like bagpipes," he announced to Honey with a smile.

Ah, her parents. Will had really liked them. Should he visit her Sunday, as well? Or would that be too much? It's too much something told him out of the blue. "How are they?" The Englishman asked, wondering if they were enjoying Spain. He'd always thought her mum was very sweet and her dad very funny. But he wasn't here to talk about Mr and Mrs Flume. Or Fergie.

Will walked close to Honey, their shoulders almost touching as they followed the path as the crowd thinned. Discreet wasn't really in his wheelhouse which was surprising, given the amount of times he'd been a "secret boyfriend" in the past. But him and Honey weren't dating. It was a lot freer and he was trying hard not to put any pressure on anything because he didn't want that. This was good. This was easy. All thoughts of his ex were wiped away

Out of his pocket, he produced a hip flask and took a quick swig, offering it to Honey despite knowing that she had a full afternoon ahead, a stall to run and employees to marshall. "I had a really stupid idea of tipping all my samples into this," he explained as it sloshed when he wiggled it. The goal wasn't to get drunk but he couldn't come to this green and pleasant land and not sample things. It seemed really rather rude. Besides, if he wasn't holding a plastic shot glass, he was more likely to be given another.

"Bloody Nora," Will complained as he swallowed the fireball of a cocktail and wrinkled his nose before the burning stopped. He looked over at her. "What time are you working until?" He asked with a smile. "I passed a pub on the way here," he explained. It was called The Bonnie Badger and he couldn't help but giggle at the sign. "I bet you've not eaten much."

He asked which whisky she had and she shrugged. “Don’t remember,” she admitted with a grin. “I’ve been trading sweets for snifters.” She shrugged again and handed him her glass--it’d been charmed to keep its contents at the perfect temperature--with a belated warning: “It’s a bit peaty.” It wasn’t her favorite but as usual (and as with most things) she got less picky the more she had to drink.

“A bit,” she repeated with a laugh, taking her glass back. She had another sip and nodded, trying not to laugh again before she could swallow her mouthful. “I’ve tried to get the stall a bit closer to the action--” she wanted to be able to watch while working-- “But long-standing stalls get precedence so.” She shrugged again as she rolled her eyes, silently cursing the Honeydukes proprietors of the early years who hadn’t had the forethought to grab one of the good spots.

He asked after her parents--it shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering he liked them and vice versa (a little too much)--and she shrugged again, glancing sideways at him. “Dad’s restless and Mum wishes she was closer to family but they still love it there.” Honey complained about how warm it was whenever she visited but it really was a nice place and she enjoyed her time there (though the sangria might have deserved some of the credit). “But they come to the Games for a day--working and otherwise--and appreciate retirement more, so..” She waved her free hand through the air as if that was her way of continuing her thought.

She raised her eyebrows as Will pulled out a flask--had he not known ahead of time that there’d be alcohol there? That seemed unlikely considering it was Scotland--but took it from him with no hesitation and as he went on to explain himself, Honey’s mouth fell open. “That’s really stupid,” she agreed with another laugh, bringing the flask up to her nose to have a sniff. Sure there were blended whiskies but-- “Don’t go advertisin’ that.” She had a swig anyway--it was hard to pick out any one flavor and she almost felt bad about how quickly she swallowed--and moved to hand it back before thinking better of it and tipping a little bit out into her (now) empty glass.

They were a fair bit away from the crowdest bit and she slowed to a stop, turning to face him and have a good look at him. She shrugged again. “‘Til it’s over, I imagine.” She knew that for a fact but she didn’t mention it. “Fergie was helping out this morning but he’s got a mate to show around--” she remembered then where he’d gone off to, and how she hadn’t asked who he was meeting in case it had been his gobstones-loving coworker, lest her face give anything away about that mistake-- “And I bet they won’t make it far past the whisky tents.” Fergie hadn’t started drinking quite as early as Honey had and she couldn’t fault him if he decided to finally get into it.

“I have eaten,” she said with a lopsided grin, ignoring that he sounded too much like her mum. “Did you try a haggis taco?” She didn’t have to queue if she just went round the backs of the stalls like she and all the other business owners had been doing all day so she’d grabbed one every time she’d gone out for a drink. “Do you want to?” She looked back toward the crowd as she had another sip of her (horribly planned) drink, deciding against heading back into it with Will. “I probably shouldn’t leave leave,” she said after another few seconds, looking back to him. “This is good, though.” The walk, she meant, but she waved her hand between the two of them before she could make that clear.

She traded sweets for alcohol and he snorted in amusement. "Smart," he said appreciatively as he took the glass and sipped. Despite how he dressed, he wasn't really a whiskey man. He had a penchant for red wine and the occasional brandy but it seemed sacrilegious to ask for anything but whiskey. "No it's good," he added quickly. He didn't think it was polite to tell Honey that he could definitely taste the peat. In fact, he could almost chew it.

He grinned. He sometimes forgot that Honeydukes was such an institution and therefore came with expectations. "I bet a lot of people come here just for you," he added as he bumped her gently. "If you keep moving, they won't know where to find you. And the fudge."

Will did know that asking about Honey's parents was a bit...odd. He hadn't seen them in a long time but he was relieved to know they were both well. "I'm a little bit jealous," Will added lightly because it sounded like her mum and dad had it all worked out. London was in his blood but he loved the warmer climes. He longed for the beach but found comfort in the rainsoaked streets of home. He just wasn't brave enough to take the leap.

"Absolutely mad," he agreed with Honey as he clinked his flask against her glass when she filled it. "Cross my heart and hope to die," he joked, making the motion across his chest and careful not to swill the cocktail of whiskies. "It's actually not too bad," Will mused as he drank some more, now definitely buzzing as the fresh northern hair made him reel.

"Ooh a mate," Will said quickly, eyebrows raised. "Or a mate-mate?" He asked, heavy with insinuation. He had no idea if Fergie was seeing anyone and it had never been his place to ask but he was a genuinely lovely guy, a unicorn between stallions. He grinned. "Tell him I said hi when you see him next," he was quick to add.

"I have not," Will added quickly, nodding as Honey asked if he wanted to try one. He did. He just hoped there weren't any peppers on it, lest his heartburn make a reappearance. "Is it crunchy?" He asked, trepidation clear in his voice. He nodded again.  Honey had a point, though, she couldn't just up in leave and he really needed to stop asking her to.

She said it was nice and he smiled, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder affectionately, his hand sliding over and down her arm affectionately. "It's good to see you," Will told Honey honestly. He'd been looking forward to seeing her, it had made work a bit more bearable. "I was going to enroll in the tug of war," Will announced with a dimpled grin, knowing full well that he'd be letting his side down. His teenage rugby nickname of Deadweight Dasher was about to come back to haunt him - he wasn't sure how much grip he'd have in his wellies. "If you want to come and cheer me on. Or we can go and get that taco. Then watch me make a fool of myself."

Honey smiled and decided to take that compliment as a genuine one. “Good point.” It’d be nice if people came to the Games just to see her—she suspected Will wouldn’t have shown up if she hadn’t invited him, anyway—but considering everything else going on and that her store was open six days a week not very far from here (and the amount of gorgeous people in tartan) she doubted she was Number One on many lists.

She smiled again; she wasn’t the one living in Majorca but she liked to claim some part of whatever jealousy people felt for her parents, as if it had been her idea for them to leave the UK in the first place (it hadn’t). “I’m sure they’d love for you to visit,” she said, not sarcastically. They loved him, really. It had been a bit much when they were dating; it was still a bit much now.

He said it wasn’t that bad. Honey raised both eyebrows and had another sip, lasting one whole second before she made a face at the taste. “No, it’s pretty bad.” She laughed but she shrugged it off. It was tolerable and least they wouldn’t need to head back into the masses to get another drink for a little while.

Honey shrugged again. She hadn’t paid too much attention when Fergie had been telling her where he was off to—she had worried about it being that bloke from his office but she decided to not let Will in on that one—because the important thing had been him not being there at the stall with her, helping. “Not really sure what’s going on in Ferg’s mate mate world.” She assumed she’d have heard about it if there was anything to hear about. She told him enough about hers, anyway; she deserved some news in return. “But I will.” Say ‘hi’, she meant. She wasn’t about to suggest he do it himself; she hadn’t mentioned she had been expecting Will all day.

The logical follow up question was ‘have you had haggis?’ but Honey didn’t want to bother. She nodded instead; crispy, crunchy, haggisy goodness.

Her stomach fluttered when he touched her—or maybe it was the aforementioned haggis tacos not agreeing with the new blend of whisky—and she felt the need to reciprocate, reaching for his waist with her other hand. “You, too.” She smiled, smirked softly after another second.

She’d seen him earlier in the week—it’d been a long week, though, so it felt like it’d been longer—but she didn’t want to just stand there looking at him. There were plenty of people around to see them—her mind jumped to Harlan, though he hated crowds—but she was going to be busy all weekend, working nights to prep for the next day, then was going to be busy all week getting the trolley ready for the train’s trip up from London.

But he pivoted elsewhere: tug-of-war. “Were you really?” It was a good distraction, at least. She’d love to see that, if maybe she could convince him to ditch his shirt and jacket—he wouldn’t want to get them dirty, would he?—first. The flat cap could stay, she decided with another smirk.

“Or,” she offered instead, “We could—“ She tilted her head farther away from the crowd. She moved her hand to his and pulled him a bit farther along the path, interlacing her fingers with his out of habit. There had to be something to hide behind, find a little privacy. The options were lacking, she realized after a few more steps and they were far enough away and she didn’t stick out in this crowd as much as he did and— Honey stopped and turned to him, waiting half a second before she pulled him to her, dropping his hand to grab his waist again as she kissed him.

Will laughed gently but not to poke fun at Honey. He thought she was just being nice, saying her parents would like him to visit. The idea was weird when they were dating and it was weirder now. "Well, I do love the beach," he added lightly. He'd lost his tan over a year ago and he was itching to get away somewhere warm. For now, the least creepy thing he could do to stay in touch was to send the Flumes a Christmas card.

He flashed Honey a grin, amused. "It'll definitely ward off a cold," he replied diplomatically. His wayward cocktail tasted strong enough to strip the lining off his stomach. "It could probably double up as a cleaner for your trays," he joked before taking a sip, the warm sensation feeling more like a fire now than a gentle flicker like it had done before. Wincing, he cleared his throat - she had a point.

"Ah," he added gently with a nod at Honey not being let in on her brother's personal life. It made sense. He definitely didn't know (nor did he want to) the ins and outs of Elijah and Arden's love lives. The sheer thought made him deeply uncomfortable. Besides, Fergie was one of the good guys. He was a genuinely lovely guy and Will was sure he'd meet someone equally as lovely in the whiskey tent today.

Oh, the haggis was crunchy. An odd tingly sensation crept across Will's skin and he tried to ignore it and fight off the shivers. He was no foodie but a wrong texture freaked him out. Honey, as always, pleasantly distracted him. He smiled gently as she agreed with him, partly in relief but mostly in pleasure.

"Absolutely," Will replied gamely with a nod before he offered a dimpled grin at the mention of tug of war. It seemed pretty intense, there was a lot of grunting, but he'd also been working out on the side. Nothing major, mainly running because he'd tried to lift weight and done his back in almost instantly in a typical Dasher family fashion.

"Yes." The word was out immediately and there was no hesitation. Moving away sounded like a great idea and he let Honey take his hand, his fingers wrapping around hers as he followed her obediently. He loved the atmosphere and he could hear military drums somewhere but there wasn't really anywhere quiet. He followed her quickly, their bodies close together, thankful that the crowd thinned out.

But his body reacted before he did. With his hand free, he reached down to curl his fingers around the base of Honey's skull to tilt her head upwards to meet him. He stepped forward to press their bodies together, connected from lip to knee as he deepened the kiss. Will loosened his hold on Honey's face, his warm fingers sliding instead down the back of her neck and into her hair, twisting it gently around them.

Instinctively, he stepped forward, his hand running down Honey's back as he moved her backwards. His large hands slid around her hips and without thinking about it, gently untucked her jumper from the waistband of her skirt with ease. "I wouldn't say I'm a prude," he whispered  against her lips between kisses, his mouth moving smoothly up and across her jaw bone to her ear. "But is there a bush I can drag you into?" He joked. Mostly.

Honey stretched a little more on her toes as Will angled her chin for her; she moved her hand to the back of his neck, fingers quickly reaching for the ends of his hair; his own hand on her neck sent shivers down her spine. She pulled him closer as he did the same, took a step back when he stepped forward, not really caring that there really wasn’t anywhere better to go--she’d had too much whisky to suggest apparating away for just a few minutes and she figured that his non-aversion to PDA was a pretty clear indication he’d had too much to drink, too--and not stopping to point it out, either.

He ran a hand down her back and she was suddenly very conscious of just how thick and wooly and in-the-way her jumper was, especially once he’d untucked it and hadn’t moved his hands under it.

She smiled into the kiss when he spoke. Will wouldn’t say he was a prude but, “I would.” She whispered it back, smirking when she wasn't pressing her lips to his. They’d snogged in countless pubs and had known each other all of an hour or two before sleeping together but-- his lips moved along her jaw and she squirmed at the tickle of his beard; she loved it. Honey trailed her hand along his shoulder blade as he shifted a little more toward her.

“I can make one,” she answered honestly, her eyes still closed and answering the question he hadn’t really asked. Still, they were surrounded by lakes and wide open spaces and even if she wasn’t a prude, she was still meant to be working. She snaked her hand back up to Will’s hair and tugged just shy of gently, just enough that no parts of their faces were in contact anymore. “Maybe we--” she didn’t have an alternative plan ready to go and she searched his face for any reason she should stop smirking.

She ought to suggest they backup a little because she was at that point in her drinking where she thought they fit together really nicely and that it’d be a shame they couldn’t continue on like this forever without fear of him wanting to get serious and-- it hit her with a hilarity she hadn’t grasped yet, probably because she hadn’t yet thought about it after so many whiskies. “I--” she stopped, looking a little puzzled. “I don’t know how to say ‘I’m glad your girlfriend shagged my boyfriend’ in a ‘because now we get to’ kind of way, but--” She was talking fast and her words stuck together a bit, both alcohol and accent to blame.

"Rude," he mumbled against the hollow of her throat before he snorted. Will was a grown man but there was something about Honey that made him feel like a teenager - carefree, excited, rebellious. She pulled his hair and he glanced down at her with a lopsided grin. He shrugged at the same time he nodded, his body giving her a definite thumbs up while his head was trying to back-peddle. After all, they were in the Scottish Highlands and they had a belly full of whiskey and nothing was really off limits and --

"What?"

Honey's words were quick and slightly slurred but he heard them as clear as he heard the bird in the tree close by tweeting. Instantly, Will tensed. He reached up and removed Honey's hands from the back of his neck as he let them drop to her side and backed up and away from her with a deep-set frown. "What did you just say?" He asked her again, his tone soft but steely as he set his jaw and his eyes seemed to darken in the weak sunlight.

Berenice had lied to him. She'd played him like a bastard fiddle. She'd had the cheek to come into his kitchen, drink the tea, tell him that she'd met someone but hadn't told him who. But of course it was Harlan Bellamy. Will snorted derisively as he shook his head, his eyes wide as he tangled a hand in his hair. The man was an international Quidditch star and he couldn't get his own fucking girlfriend, he had to keep stealing his? What a pathetic little man.

"Fucking Hell," he swore softly in a very un-Will-like manner as the magnitude of Honey's slip up sank in. Latent anger bubbled in his stomach and he curled his fists without meaning to. He held himself stiffly as his breath came in short, ragged pants through his nose as his jaw was clamped shut. He didn't like Harlan, he never had, but he'd never respected him less than he did now.  Harlan was a coward. There was a code amongst men but he disregarded it. Berenice had, too. They'd just been there, kissing, laughing at him like this was a big joke that he was excluded from. She'd strung him along and Harlan had been an accomplice. Well, bollocks to the both of them.

He turned to face Honey quickly, his face thunderous. "You knew," he said softly as he stepped towards her. "You knew about this," he accused her. Everything made sense now. He was so dumb. He laughed shortly, scaring the bird who flapped its wings in protest. "You didn't come to London to see me "just because,"," he went on as he looked away at the peaceful lake not too far away as he made air quotes with his forefingers.  "You arranged to meet me at the pub to tell me but you chickened out," he flung at her, his cheeks pink.

"So what?" Will went on as he shoved his hands angrily into his trouser pockets. "You decided to give a big middle finger to your conscience, then?" He replied as he stopped not too far away from her, his chest rising and falling thinly as he paced back and forth like a caged animal.

"How long have you known?" Will's voice was soft but it carried across the area as he stared at her. It didn't matter what answer Honey gave him. It could have been an hour, a day, a week, a month, it still felt like betrayal. The rational part of his brain tried to take over suddenly but it was being blocked. He couldn't shake it off. Honey had used him. She'd broken up with her scumbag ex boyfriend, used Will's hurt of his broken relationship to -- what? Make herself feel better? Get her rocks off? Hurt him again? She hadn't lied, technically, but how could she sleep at night knowing that she carried a secret this big around? He blinked as a sudden realisaton hit him - she hadn't changed at all. It was all about her. She danced through life, not bothering to put out the fires she caused because that was the Honey Bea Flume way; someone would always do it for her.  She was selfish and childish and cruel and careless. He'd had enough.

Will stepped over to Honey quickly, getting close as he bent his head down to her eye level. His eyes flicked back and forth across her pretty face. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to him roughly.  "How long have you known?" He asked her again, each word punctuated very slowly as his eyes blazed with thinly veiled anger.

“What?” Honey blinked, confused. Will moved her hands for her (and not in a good way) and it took her a second to catch up, her thoughts a bit cloudy from the whisky (and the snogging). She’d said she was pleased they were-- Oh. She realized what she had said when he turned the same question around on her. “That’s not--” what she meant, she was going to say, but he swore and cut her off.

Honey grimaced, swearing internally: fuck; fuck fuck fuck. She swallowed hard and set her mouth in a hard line, her brain working overtime now to figure out how to get out of this like it wasn’t a big deal. Whatever she’d said could be swept under the rug and forgotten and they could get back to what they had been doing.

She pivoted, though, and convinced herself that she had wanted to apologize and that she would have done so if he hadn’t started accusing her right off the bat, giving her no benefit of the doubt or anything. (Never mind that he wasn’t wrong but Honey had never been one for thinking logically.) His tone of voice caught her off guard; it was quiet and measured and if she closed her eyes she might have thought it was Harlan talking in that way that did nothing but infuriate her; she didn’t want to be the only one raising her voice.

But his accusations were spot on. She didn’t go to London to see him ‘just because’ and Honey started with an, “I--” but stopped when he looked away, suddenly less willing to dig herself a deeper hole when the spotlight wasn’t on her. That didn’t last too long, though; Honey met his look with a glare. “I did not,” she spat back. She hadn’t chickened out. It wasn’t like that. (It was, and she had, even if she had convinced herself she hadn’t told him for his own good.)

She almost laughed, almost asked ‘what conscience?’ but she was feeling too defensive for that now. “Fuck off, that’s not what happened.” She could hardly get a word in edgewise before Will was off on her again, his tone back to the infuriatingly calm one from before. She didn’t answer his question--how long had she known?--and crossed her arms across herself, asking her own questions: How could she be so stupid? They’d been having such a nice time-- What could she say to fix this? Nothing, so that’s exactly what she did.

He came toward her and pulled her the rest of the way to him. Honey glanced at her hand around her wrist before glaring at him, for once not having to look up to meet his eyeline. She pulled herself out of his grasp and took a step back, idly rubbing her wrist with her other hand without really thinking about it. “It’s not like that,” she said quickly, loudly. She didn’t know what it was like. “You weren’t supposed to--” No, that was the wrong way to go-- “I just mean--”

She sighed, glanced away before looking back at him. “I met her at a quidditch match but I didn’t know who she was to you--” She’d been way more focused on who she was to Harlan, anyway, and she had run into Charlie right after and shit, where was she going with this excuse? Will wasn’t going to buy that she was that stupid. She’d known when she had gone to London and he knew she knew. Harlan had told her and Honey had been stupid enough to ask who, and she and Will had told her enough about their own respective partners for her to figure out that connection.

Honey had wanted to tell him. She had planned on it but then he had started talking about them. Or had she been the one to bring their relationship up? She was probably using it as a distraction then as much as she was trying to now. Honey moved to reach for him but thought better of it at the last second, crossing her arms across her chest again. “It doesn’t matter how long I knew. I’m not the one who cheated on you.” Except, of course, she had; it had been one kiss, but that carried a whole different weight to it now. Either way, Will wasn’t supposed to know about it. “When was I supposed to tell you?”

Will took a perverse pleasure in watching the cogs turn in Honey's brain as she attempted to backtrack. He'd known her for quite a while and it was maybe the first time he'd seen her speechless. He continued to pace, back and forth, almost like he couldn't quite decide what his body should be doing as he processed her slip of the tongue.

It stung. He was disappointed in Bérénice. She could have told him who it was she was seeing, despite it being none of his business and it definitely not making him feel any better about the break up. He was bombarded with fragments of their conversation and he knew it was pathetic. It was a break up, not a death, he was able to move on. He just stared at Honey.

"Okay," he told her calmly as she refuted his claim that she had lost her bottle but he still wasn't convinced. Maybe she thought she was protecting him, which he could appreciate. Will blinked as she swore and he forced himself to bite on his inner cheek to stop himself from telling her to fuck off right back.

The way she tore away and rubbed her wrist made him frown again, his eyebrows furrowed as he realised he'd hurt her. He stepped towards her, about to apologise before he swallowed it because if anyone was due an apology, it was him.

"I wasn't supposed to find out," Will finished Honey's sentence for her helpfully and offered her a wry smile. As she was struggling to tell him what she needed to, he was having an issue trying to straighten out his feelings. It seemed silly. Bérénice wasn't the love of his life and neither was Honey. Will wasn't a tip-top guy but he thought he deserved to be treated better than he had been.

A quidditch match. Of course - the Griffins. He'd not been invited. With a sigh, Will just shook his head in dismay, struggling to figure out Honey's reasoning, if she had any. It wasn't really her fault. They'd indulged each other in a treacherous trip down memory lane. She'd been there when he spoke about the break up and she told him about hers and things just seemed...normal again, if a little nostalgic. They'd fallen back into step too easily, one of them should have noticed.

"It matters to me," he was quick to reply as he stopped his anxious walk, his wellington boots making a trail of mud in the damp grass. Honey was right, though - it didn't matter how long she'd known for because it didn't change the fact that it had happened. Unable to help himself, he let out a snort of derisive laughter. "For once." His tone was darkly sarcastic and mumbled under his breath and he, for once, didn't care if she heard it or not.

"As soon as you found out!" Will roared as he spun to face her, his dark eyes wide. His hands were in the air in exasperation as he spun in a circle, hands flying to his forehead as he pulled at his hair. "Jesus, Honey," he laughed breathlessly, shaking his head, his eyes not really seeing anything as the red mist descended.

"You made the choice for me," he told her, his voice still raised. Thank goodness they were some distance away from the Games crowds. And her stall. He was mad at her but he didn't want to tarnish her reputation. "But you let me carry on being used and lied to and I know you're not responsible for what she did," he added because the situations weren't the same. "But you're just as bad as them both," he concluded, shooting her a pointed look.

Honey hadn't lied, she'd just withheld information. It didn't constitute the same thing but he was having trouble pinning the blame on someone, overlooking the fact that he might just have been the problem. "I just --" he pursed his lips as he tried to find out what he wanted to say but he came up short. He backed away from her as though it would award him time to think. Out of exasperation, he slammed the heel of his hand against his forehead before he balled it into a fist.

"I just don't understand what you could have gained from not telling me," he said to Honey as the pressure began to build. With a sigh, he looked around at the peaceful setting. Today had done a complete one-eighty. He'd been full of the joys of spring. There was a nearby empty plastic cup used for whiskey and he pulled his foot back to kick it out of anger but instead, his foot collided with a tree trunk and he let out a string of particularly colourful expletives as he hobbled away.

“For once?” Honey laughed sharply, taking a step forward and raising her voice a notch. He was right, but— “If you don’t have the balls to accuse me of something when we’re dating you have no right—“ She stopped herself (too late) and seethed silently.

She asked when she was meant to have told him and should have expected the response—‘as soon as finding out’ was a pretty reasonable request—but now she found herself wondering if she had owed him that at all. The first time they saw each other after breaking up had also been the same time he’d kissed her and said he was just ‘checking something’; she remembered thinking that they were going to skip those past two months and go right back to— then he’d said he had to go find someone. Her. The same her that Harlan wanted instead of Honey. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as it all came bubbling up to the surface.

“She made the choice for you.” She pointed a finger at him accusingly, her voice still increasing in volume. “She let you carry on being used and lied to and—“ Honey stopped, almost dumbfounded, when he said she was just as bad as them both. That wasn’t fair; if he hadn’t already broken up with Bérénice then of course she would have told him. That had been her original intention, anyway: ruin that relationship just like hers had been ruined, never mind the collateral damage that would have been Will Dasher.

He stopped and started and Honey shook her head, fuming. She didn’t care what he just. How did they get to this point from where they’d been just a few minutes ago?

All the air was knocked out of her with his next sentence. Was he really that thick to not see why she might have wanted to save him from knowing all this? Why she had been so keen to see him, to stay with him; she opened her mouth to try and make her excuses, to touch on whatever subconscious feelings her whisky had brought up; Will turned around and kicked a fucking tree stump.

“For. fuck’s. sake.” Honey emphasized each word as she took off after him, pulling her wand out without a second thought. “Stop.” She sounded cross, but he was still trying to limp away from her. “Will—“ she caught up with him, grabbing his elbow and spinning him around to face her. She looked at him for one long second—the cliche last time, she thought—before she took a step back and pointed her wand at his foot, fixing whatever damage he’d done.

She wanted to say something, some clever line that’d stay with him and make him regret losing her (again) but she didn’t have anything left. Instead she just shook her head before turning to walk (quickly) back toward the crowd, her wand still held tightly in her hand to (hopefully) make him think twice about following her.

[[ out ]]

Honey advanced and Will saw the exact moment when she'd decided she'd had enough. "Oh I don't?" He countered stormily as he stood his ground. "So what you're saying is that I should have let you have the chance to embarrass me in private as opposed to blasting it across the papers?" Honey the Harlot was forever seared in his brain. He was upset and uncomfortable but he'd gone to her to see how she was. Honey was spot on. Why didn't he come to her and ask for the truth instead of believing the Prophet, of all things?

"Would you have even told me the truth?" He asked her, his eyes flicking back and forth across her pretty face. Will wasn't naive - he knew these sorts of things just happened sometimes. A kiss, a feeling, a touch but it had never happened to him. He'd always been respectful of his partners and he'd never been tempted but that was on him, not Honey. He'd never do that. He'd rather be miserable than hurt anyone else.  Besides, it wouldn't change anything.

"And what?" Will yelled back at her, incensed by her pointed finger as his cheeks flamed pink. "You don't get to dictate how I feel!" He flung back at her, his voice catching on the stiff breeze as the sun disappeared behind a cloud - and if that wasn't a foreshadowing of what was about to happen, then he didn't know what was. "You don't understand that it was wrong of you not to tell me?" He added on, eyes wide. "I would have told you," he insisted as he blinked, wondering just how big the differences between them really were.

Twatting the tree trunk was dumb, he'd admit, but him trying to walk on it was even dumber. Honey commanded him to stop but he wanted to be childish and selfish and prolong her annoyance but she grabbed his arm and he had no choice but to pivot around to face her.

His dark eyes saw her wand and he took a quick step backwards because hexing him was nothing less than he deserved. Will looked down at her, his chest rising and falling thinly as he breathed heavily through his nose. She looked so gorgeous. How had they gotten this so wrong? He wanted to reach out and touch her, to wrap her copper tresses around his fingers and say he was so so sorry. Her new her face well, all of the curves and planes. He knew how her nostrils flared when she lied or how her lower lip was slightly fuller than her top one. He'd counted her freckles (she had twenty seven) and he knew that her eyelashes were pale, even if she wore mascara. Now all he could remember was that look on her face.

The air was heavy with things he needed to say to her but his tongue was heavy and she flicked her wand and the pain eased. Nice, quick and clean. He looked down and wiggled his toes, then back up to her face to see her walking away.

The shake of her head told him all he wanted to know. Maybe she was angry but more than that, she was disappointed. "Honey," he called out as she headed back to the crowded stalls, panic gripping his chest and rising as his palms began to sweat. "Honey," he tried again as he stepped forward. "Honey, don't --" but she was determined and the crowd soon swallowed her up, leaving him in the mud with a headache and a deep sense of guilt.

Her red hair had vanished from his eye line and he exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand across his chin as he shook his head. A sense of loss swirled in his stomach as he realised that he'd royally fucked this up.  He knew this was destined to fail. Honey did too, which was probably why she'd wanted to keep things "light." With one last look at that bloody tree trunk, he turned on his heel and marched off in the opposite direction, head bowed and desperate to try to cling onto his rapidly dissipating anger because that was the only thing that explained what had just expired.