...like clockwork

"Like a person who teaches people how to make edible floral arrangements?" Farley replied with a grin, pausing to sip at her whiskey. She didn't really like it but it was leaving a nice warming sensation as it slipped down her throat and she felt infinitely more relaxed than she had been fifteen or so minutes ago. She should be panicking but an odd sense of calm surrounded her.

Farley hesitated when Harlan asked about messaging his brother before she realised that he was messing with her. She rolled her eyes with a shake of her head before she grinned back. "No thank you," she replied politely but she still sat down anyway.

"Okay, now you're lying," she laughed. Farley would be the first to admit she was more like a sheep than a wolf. It wasn't that she lacked the acumen for the job but she had a bad habit of wanting to be everybody's friend - and bosses didn't do that. Distractedly, she tapped her fingers on the arm rest, reaching up to adjust her imaginary crown playfully.

Farley took a moment to think about Harlan's comment before she shook her head. "Nah," she decided on, flashing him a dimpled grin. It clearly ran in the Bellamy family. Simon was high up in the Ministry and Harlan had a whole team of people he was in charge of, not to mention millions of fans nationwide. "Responsibility scares me," she informed him, only perhaps half true. "I've not got the guts for it," she smiled.

"Perhaps not..." An edible floral arrangement teacher didn't have a real ring to it, anyway. Harlan wrapped one leg over the other at the knee and crossed his knuckles overtop. He was set on making himself as comfortable as humanly possible in his brother's office. It had always been a bit of a fantasy of his, a vantage into Simon's perfectly curated domain without him there to dictate. Simon's professional life meant everything to him (often Harlan wondered if he preferred it to his personal one) and his younger brother snooping around wouldn't bode well.

Now you're lying, said Farley, her American accent seemed to get stronger the more she pulled the mug to mouth. She didn't have the same kind that he figured though; it was was softer than someone from New York, but not quite as round as someone from the south. Harlan couldn't distinguish anything between the two, either way. "Okay, maybe," He couldn't help but repeat her okay in an attempt to parrot her although he very likely had not.

Merlin, he hated when people outside of England did that to him.

Harlan mirrored her grin. "You never know, you might surprise yourself one day," It was the extent of his sage wisdom regarding careers and the fucking future. Who was he to talk, really? Without quidditch, he had no idea what he would do. "You're young, you'll figure it out," He meant it to be reassuring but his lack of skill in the department of soothing was evident. He also had no idea how old Farley actually was.

"Enough about work, anyway..." Harlan decided before leaning back to collect his mug and take a drink. He was meant to be helping her celebrate leaving, not bring down the mood.

"Agreed," Farley grinned, wondering what the Hell she was doing. Drinking after hours in her boss' office, with her boss' brother? She was so far out of her comfort zone, she was practically in orbit around it. The whiskey was starting to seep into her bloodstream by now. She felt relaxed and warm as her fingers curled around her cup, delicately sipping at the amber coloured liquid inside.

Nearly choking on her whiskey, Farley let out a little noise of indignation as Harlan mocked her. Swallowing, she arched an eyebrow before she laughed. He was making fun of her accent. It wouldn't be the first time. Were Americans in London such a rare occurrence? She didn't think so. "Not sure what part of the States you're from. Canada, maybe," she grinned.

Reclining in Simon's seat, she let out a heavy sigh. "I hope so," she answered Harlan quickly. Surprises weren't really in Farley's wheelhouse. "Do you think I've made a mistake?" She asked as she looked up at him sharply, her dark eyes impossibly large on her pale face. Doubt trickled in. Though, deep down she knew that if she walked back in here tomorrow, Simon wouldn't have even realised she'd resigned in the first place.

She laughed quickly. "Okay grandpa," Farley replied sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. He'd called her young and the sudden urge to prove that she was an actual grown up became almost overwhelming.

Her mug was suddenly empty and she licked her lower lip, picking up the bottle and sloshing the liquid in without hesitation this time, offering it out to Harlan. "What do you wanna know?" Farley asked curiously. "Family? Childhood? Relationships? What I'm doing for Christmas?" She smiled as she drank, definitely now feeling the buzz.

She asked if he thought she was making a mistake and Harlan froze. He was hyper-practical on the worst of days, and that part of him was screaming yes, yes I do. Though, Harlan took a moment to consider. While he would never be able to be brave enough to end something without having the next perfectly lined up, he wondered if perhaps that was more a fault of his own.

As with most things in his life, Harlan was painstakingly fucking deliberate.

"I don't know," He answered honestly with an exhaled, his eyes landing and staying on Farley after having properly studied the full surface of the ceiling. "Things have a way of working out," He tried to be reassuring but he knew that he may have felt that way strictly because he was born into a place where things did just that and he had no idea what anything other than was truly like.

Farley called him a grandpa and that seemed to lighten the mood again (it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been accused). He supposed he deserved that for making a comment about her being young enough. She had time to redesign her life with consequence. "Hmm," He hummed a thought, glancing sideways to her in Simon's chair where she had started to look quite comfortable.

"Which state are you from?" It was safer than asking about her love life, or what she was doing for Christmas. And in truth, he was curious as to how she ended up on the other side of the world, away from home. "I've only ever been to Los Angeles and New York," Harlan added wistfully. He'd always wanted to see more of America, and not explore it without the lens of Quidditch.

Harlan's hesitation was all she needed to agree that yes, this was a monumental fuck up. She smiled at him quickly as she sipped at her whiskey, not mad exactly, because she'd asked for it but more...disappointed. Farley wanted someone in her corner. At this point, she'd take anyone telling her that she'd be okay.

She gave a short laugh. "And I thought I was starry-eyed," she joked, avoiding his gaze as she felt his on her face. She shrugged. He'd tempered his answer and she appreciated it. It wasn't an outright no. Her big dark eyes slid to the tray on Simon's desk where her resignation letter sat, momentarily wondering if she could destroy it. If he asked what she was still doing here, she could feign ignorance and blame it on his heavy workload and say he might have imagined it. But she wasn't happy here. She'd never been happy here. She liked filing and organising and she was good at her job but it wasn't exactly life-fulfilling.

Farley blinked back into reality. "Oregon," she answered quickly. "Home of microbreweries and coffee houses," she joked. She didn't blame her home on her intense caffeine problem but a lot of the state had a dependency. "I love it," she sipped from her mug. "I didn't think I'd ever get homesick but," rather than answer, she shrugged again. Besides, there weren't any mountains to climb in London.

"You're wondering why I'm here, aren't you?" The petite brunette grinned, unoffended. "I followed my boyfriend here. Ex boyfriend," she tacked on and she and Ethan hadn't been doing anything for a long time now. "He got a transfer. I followed. A month in, he met someone new at work," she sighed, though it didn't sting as much now. "My fault," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "I should have realised that if he wanted to keep dating me, he would have made time. So now I'm stuck," she explained, wiggling her toes. "The contract doesn't end until the New Year so I'm probably gonna screwed when I get home but hey-ho."

Harlan mentioned LA and she involuntarily wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Too busy," she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "The air quality sucks," she told him, as if he hadn't experienced it himself. It was too hot and too crowded and Farley loved the forest, not the beach.

Over her cup, she surveyed him. He'd suit West Coast living. Farley could see lots of people's jaws hitting the floor as he sauntered past. "Did you like it?" She asked, interestedly. He must travel a lot with his job but she hadn't heard of him back home before she started working for his brother. "You could make a lot of money across the pond," Farley offered. With his pedigree, American teams would bite his hand off. "You can still play when you're forty," she joked as she slurped at her drink.

He could sense a falter in her reaction, no doubt related to his own hesitation. Harlan had tried, really, to make it less noticeable but he got the better of himself by being incapable of dishonesty. Some people might have glossed it over, sugarcoated it, but that wasn't in his nature. The Bellamy's nature for that matter. The wizard had grown up in a home that wasn't particularly soft with their love. Often he had to remind himself that most others didn't have those same experiences.

Microbreweries and coffee houses she said, and he smiled faintly. Both of those sounded like uniquely muggle things but then again maybe they were just American. "Near the coast?" Harlan asked after confirming from what knowledge he had of North American geography. "That's what I liked about California," He added, a nod to her question. "I don't much like the heat," He clarified. "It was cooler, not so humid," He reminisced on his time spent along the seaside, feeling strangely nostalgic.

"You're taking the piss," Harlan sat up more straight and spun on the corner of the desk so that he was facing her, his shin brushed up against the side of her, well Simon's, lux leather armchair. "Don't you remember?" He took a moment to refill her drink, then his own, already feel the lightness that came with it. He would be hardpressed to remember that he was making himself more than comfortable in his brothers' office after hours. A childhood dream come true.

"When I ran into you, at that bar?" His eyes narrowed before flicking to the sky to recollect. "The fucking, George and something," Harlan snapped his fingers as if that might help him to remember. It had been a while, but he could still see it. Then again, he was the sober one. "You were out there telling the tale of ex-boyfriend's past, had to get you off the floor," He laughed goodnaturedly and, on second thought, nudged his knee against hers reassuringly.

"I'm sure there was some good that came of it?" Moving to the other side of the world, he meant, hoping for a silver lining so looked less of a dick.

"Mmhm," Farley replied with a nod before she swallowed her whiskey, fingers reaching for the bottle unabashedly. "Only about an hour or so away from the ocean," she said with a bright smile. Feeling emboldened by the drink, she filled her mug and tilted her head curiously. "You'd suit it," she told Harlan. Not so much the wheatgrass shots but more the beach. But he hated the heat. She offered him a grin. "I can't work you out," she said with a shake of her head, sounding mystified.

At his comment, Farley's head jerked up, her dark eyes wide in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" She asked, suddenly on the defensive. Harlan filled her mug and she drank, wondering what he was getting at before the sound of his snapping fingers had an effect and her eyes widened.

"Oh shit," she gasped, a hand covering her mouth as the entire event came screaming back to her. "George and Dragon," she whispered, bits and pieces screaming back to her. She fell off the stool. She'd told him her apartment wasn't safe because the lock was broken. She'd ordered a bowl of chips. "I said my ex-boyfriend kissed like a St. Bernard, didn't I?" She winced as she gave a hollow laugh, the touch on her knee making her look down.

"That's so embarrassing," she whispered as she felt her blush run from her collarbones, up her neck and to her face, turning the tips of her ears pink. "Sorry," she said with a sheepish grin. The impressions he had of her must be awful. From picking her up off a sticky bar floor to the first time she'd met him, hiding out in his family drawing room, writing his brother's speech for him. She was about to tell him that I don't usually do that but Harlan didn't care.

Farley shrugged. "It's not been totally gross," she assured him with a smile. "I've seen Big Ben." It wasn't a euphemism. "It's been nice to be somewhere completely by myself," she told Harlan, unsure if he ever felt the same. "And you've been nice to me," she insisted. "So that was good."

Harlan offered a half shrug at her comment— she couldn’t work him out. It wasn’t all that unusual for him to hear. Half of the time, he couldn’t work himself out. Though, it didn’t help, of course, that he wasn’t particularly skilled at speaking the very many things on his mind. Introspective, to a fault, he’d once been told.

Farley didn’t seem to recall their evening at The George & Dragon at first (though, miraculously, she was the one who remembered the name), and he couldn’t blame her. By the time he’d arrived she was a few too many sheets to the wind and decidedly not having the best of times, after the fun part of being drunk. “You might’ve mentioned that…” Harlan hadn’t intended on dwelling on the finer details but the reminder was almost laughable when she said it out loud. Despite that, though, he controlled himself and kept a straight face.

“Oh, please,” He groaned, crossing a leg over the other from where he had turned to face her, his other leg still pressed against Simon’s chair in which she sat. “Don’t be sorry,” Harlan reassured. “It was a bit funny,” He winced into a laugh. It wasn’t every day he heard something like it, anyway. Absentmindedly he gave her leg another what he hoped was a reassuring nudge.

If Big Ben and his company were the highlights of her time in London, someone had truly done a number on that one. “No…” Harlan leaned forward lazily and rest his elbow on his knee, chin dropping casually to his palm to watch her. “Absolutely not,” He shook his head. “If my being nice to you falls on your top fucking anything then you are not leaving this city until you enjoy yourself, Hoskins,” He said more seriously, making it clear that he meant it. There was no way she could go back to America with that sentiment wedging a chip on her shoulder for the rest of time.

"Mortifying," Farley whispered, her dark eyes wide and unfocused as she drank from her mug. Second-hand embarrassment was a very real thing. It was bad enough but do do that in front of her boss' brother, no less? Unforgivable. Harlan didn't seem as disgusted as she thought he might be and he had ordered her some chips and picked her up off the floor. "Thank Merlin, the rest is a bit fuzzy." If she remembered anything else, she might just scream.

Harlan nudged her knee again and she gave a short laugh, nudging him back before she almost choked on her whiskey. "No?" She croaked, her eyes wide. He was shaking her head and she wondered if saying that she liked Big Ben wasn't something she should be saying to an Englishman.

She blinked in mild surprise. She didn't really have many other highlights - the Tube was terrifying, she didn't understand anyone's accent and everything was loud. "The parks were nice?" Farley offered gently, trying to prove that she wasn't a complete loser but she was the one who was spending her lunch break on benches because she didn't have any friends. "And I liked the Tower of London exhibition," she nodded as she drank. "And I liked the architecture," she admitted. "And things look very pretty in the dark."

"Why?" The petite brunette asked as she turned her gaze to him, offering a wide grin. "You offering to show me around?"

Farley was already speaking about the city in the past-tense and Harlan knew the odds were stacked against him, and London. It was clear that she had already made up her mind and likely mentally left it long before she decided to brandish it with ink as evidenced on his brothers' desk of which he was currently draped over. How had he ended up there, again? The whiskey certainly helped.

"Everything is, isn't it?" Harlan began. "Nicer in the dark," His mouth was unable to keep itself from moving. Again, that god damn drink. He fumbled subtly and sat up more straight. "That's good to hear—" There was an attempt to backtrack in the way that he moved, in the way that his voice shifted. "At least there are few redeemable qualities you can tell your friends about..." A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Myself not included," He warned mischievously as an afterthought. And he meant it.

Harlan didn't feel put on the spot by her question, but he certainly considered it. There was an innate challenge in wanting to prove London, and himself by proxy, to this person, he thought. "Bit late for that, no?" He quirked an eyebrow. She was leaving, what had she said, that next week? "Though, I don't mind a challenge..." Harlan mused carefully before taking a more measured sip from the mug.

Farley made a sound, halfway between a laugh and a snort, resulting in her choking on her drink. They were both tipsy but it was impossible to not take that as flirting. Managing to swallow, she reached up to wipe the whiskey dribble from her chin with the palm of her hand. "Totally," she said politely, her head spinning. Maybe he wasn't flirting, maybe that was just who he was. Farley also had her mental question answered, whether he was a lights on or lights off person.

With a smile, she averted her eyes. "I'll take you off my list, then," she said cheerfully. He seemed very set on painting himself as the bad guy, despite him being nothing of the sort. She squinted at him in the bad office lighting for a moment. There was a lot going on with him and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out what it was.

Quickly, shook her head. "I'm not wearing a watch," the petite brunette said with an easy smile as she drained the last of her mug. Her dark eyes flicked to the clock on the wall behind Harlan's head. "It's not late," she insisted, feeling emboldened by the booze and the lack of direction in her life.

"Tell you what," she reasoned with him, leaning forward to place her mug down on his brother's desk. "Show me your London," she insisted. "It's almost eight. If I don't fall in love with the place by ten, you're not as persuasive as those magazines make you out to be."

Harlan took pride— warranted or not— in the flush that spread over Farley's cheeks as she laughed into her drink. He watched her with a bemused grin from over the lip of the mug. There was something satisfying about having an effect on someone and it was intoxicated just as much as the drink had been.

It's not late she said, Challenge accepted, he thought smugly to himself as his gaze narrowed on her just as she was leaning forward from the captain's chair. It was refreshing to see her less buttoned-up. Most of what he knew of Farley was entirely pulled together on the professional front so the change of pace was more than welcomed. In fact, it had been exactly what he had been not-so-subtly pushing for whatever reason.

"Well, I can't quite compete with that now can I..." Harlan commented on the matter of his public persona, most of which was entirely fabricated, with a roll of his eyes. "C'mon then," He got to his feet, simultaneously patting the top of her leg in the process. "Finish that first," He vanished his mug after downing his own then closed the cabinets they'd left open.They could leave a few things imperfect— for Simon's sake.

With the security of The Ministry, they couldn't simply apparate out, they would have to take the long route. Though, that was ideal. Harlan's favorite place for dumplings was just around the corner.

Oh, they were leaving. Farley was calling Harlan's bluff but she stood up quickly, the tone of voice he used working wonders as she held up an index finger and downed the contents of her mug, slamming it down on Simon's desk as though it was a tequila shot. While whiskey wasn't her thing, it wasn't burning as much. In fact, it tasted rather sweet, once the shock wore off. She wiped her mouth and left the mug where it was, tugging down the hem of her skirt so it sat a little more modestly before offering Harlan a wide grin.

Had she not been drinking contraband, she wouldn't have been so forthright - she knew it, he knew it - but tonight didn't feel real. Farley was in freefall. She was drinking with a famous Quidditch player, with no plans for her future, and a guaranteed headache in the morning. Her mother warned her about walking in the dark in case of strange men but Harlan looked fairly normal.

"Come on, then," Farley announced, echoing Harlan's previous words with a smile as she held the door open for him, falling into step beside him. "We're not going to a bar, are we?" The petite brunette asked, sounding worried. She hadn't had the best track record and she'd rather die than have him pick her up off the floor again. "Good night, Gareth," she called with a cheery wave as they passed the wizard on the security desk, who looked up from his newspaper. He greeted Harlan but gave Farley a confused look.

"I'm the only one here who sent him a birthday card and he still doesn't know who I am," she complained darkly as they walked through the lobby, smiling at Harlan as they stepped into the telephone booth that brought them back to the surface of London. She barrelled out onto the street. "This way?" Farley asked, pointing to the left before striding off, regardless of whether it was the correct way.

"We're going to eat," Harlan answered matter-of-factly as the echoing sound of his voice, deep and metered, weaved through the consistent hum that his shoes made against the marble pristine floor of The Ministry corridor. It was an innately satisfying sound to go along with the smugness that had carried over from Simon's office. He was going to show Farley what London— his version, at least— was about. As usual with the siblings, there was a need to prove himself, for whatever reason.

"Cheers, Gaz," The wizard nodded firmly to the large man behind the security desk who had peeked up from the paper to study them— it was opened to the gossip section, no doubt. Harlan knew Gareth well, having visited the generations of Bellamy men working there for most of his life. It made it impossible not to know him, but he found that as his career progressed, the man seemed to always be aware of the more niche rumors that splashed the pages.

"I'm sure he does," Harlan mentioned as he and Farley passed through the large, uninhabited lobby. Seeing it so quiet wasn't foreign to Harlan. In fact, he preferred to make his visits when it was. "He's a bit shy, really," He added as an afterthought, catching her arm as she swung instinctually to where it seemed the crowds of the city were congregating. "This way," He corrected her, not unkindly, before returning his hand gently to his side.

Outside the air was brisk, a warning sign of the harsh winter to come post-holiday. Harlan thought he could feel the threat of snow, if humidity only kicked in. "The best dumplings in London," He announced as he directed them down a side-street that seemed to only house the backs of buildings in the otherwise bustling area. "Don't judge it by the exterior..." He paused at an assuming set of stairs that led down to an unmarked door.

Upon opening it, steam expelled out from the restaurant, and immediately the cacophony from the open kitchen and the various conversations of the full seating area followed suit. "Mister Harvey!" A small man— at least two heads shorter than Harlan— stepped out from where he was packaging up a box of food to clasp both hands on his broad shoulders affectionately.

Harlan hadn't bothered correcting him after all those years and he hadn't intended to yet.

Farley turned to Harlan, an eyebrow arched and an expression on her face that clearly said really? Apparently, Gareth was shy but she knew he was anything but. Thankfully, she didn't have time to dwell as Harlan grabbed her arm to redirect her. "Whee!" Came the quick response as she stumbled before she righted herself, only now aware that she was following a strange man down a strange alley. But he had promised her food.

Farley stopped abruptly, teetering on her heels as she parted her lips, ready to complain. "Too late," she replied as she hesitantly stepped forward and down the steps - she'd heard a lot about Jack the Ripper and she wondered if this was one of the places he'd attacked someone.

The noise that hit her was intense, a mixture of laughter and the clatter of dishes. It was packed, which immediately put her at ease as she reached up to rake a hand through her hair, in a poor attempt to fix what had happened to it. Bemused, she looked up as a man came barrelling towards Harlan, offering him a polite smile.

"Hello," Farley said brightly as she poked her head around Harlan's side, her eyes sliding to the left as she watched the hustle and bustle. She turned her head towards the Quidditch player before she wrinkled her nose - Harvey didn't suit him. "Excuse me," she said politely as she stepped around the men, plucking up a menu as she sat down on a plastic chair, legs crossed, scratching her nose with one hand as she shrugged off her coat, ignoring the way the chair squeaked as she sat.

Neatly, she folded the paper napkin on her lap as though she was fine dining before beckoning Harlan over with a wave of her hand. "What're the gyozas like?" She asked, mildly confused. "The ones back home, you kinda just plonk them on soup," Farley mused with a thoughtful frown.