flowers in the window. [tag; bérénice]

It turned out Aunt Carol wasn't dying - it was just Black Cat Flu.

With his eyes closed, Will leaned against the wall, head tilted up towards the flickering fluorescent light and frowned. Aunt Carol made it seem like it was literally a matter of life and death. He'd dropped everything and hurtled towards the hospital and while he was thankful she was going to be okay, he could have done without the flair for the dramatics. Besides, she didn't even have a cat. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhaled a sigh of relief.

The hospital was fairly quiet. There were a few Healers in their lime green robes zipping about, carrying clipboards and talking animatedly with each other and Will could have sworn he'd heard a snippet of conversation about where they wanted to go for their Christmas drinks. A young couple, arms around each other, clearly having had their antenatal appointment. Two old gentlemen, carrying a bouquet of flowers each and a lone little old lady, dressed in purple, pushing along a food trolley.

She stopped in front of Will and held out a Christmas tree shaped gingerbread in a paper bag. "Oh no thank you," he was quick to protest with a smile, a hand outstretched to stop her. This seemed to be the incorrect answer because she pressed it forcefully into his hand. "It's Christmas," she said in a faint (but stern) Scottish accent. "And no one likes a sair hearted laddie."

With that, she was off, trundling down the corridor, wheels squeaking, leaving Will confused. "I don't even know what that means," he said, eyes wide as he looked down at the misshapen cookie. The branches were wonky and there were chocolate beans instead of lanterns. It was oddly charming.

Turning on his heel, he adjusted his scarf with his free hand as he glanced outside of the window. It was dark by now and he could see more fresh snowfall and the street lamps guiding the way for the droves of festive shoppers. Will was meaning to nip into a few places this evening to pick some stuff up from his mum but poor Aunt Carol was more important and he'd left everything at the office, including his house keys.

Pressing the button for the lift, he waited patiently before stepping inside. Will stepped back against the back of the lift in preparation for more people entering but was surprised when no one did. He pressed the button for the ground floor, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coats when a familiar head of dark hair swiftly entered as the doors were about to close.

At first, he thought he might be hallucinating - it had been a rough day - but there was no mistaking the curve of her hips or her perfume. He wondered what she was doing before he realised it was December and she might be in his town to do things cute and festive with her cute and festive boyfriend. He snuck a look at her. She looked well, glowing, happy.

The doors closed with a cheery little ding! and it was too late - he couldn't hide, she'd already seen him. A beat of silence filled the lift before he offered her a small smile and a nod of acknowledgement. "Hi," he announced. Will wanted the lift to somehow hurtle downwards at break-neck pace but part of him wanted it to stall. To his dismay, there was a tinny version of Jingle Bells playing through the speakers. "I hate this song," he replied at a weak go at an icebreaker.

“Hold it, please—” Bérénice jogged in her heels to the lift just as the doors were closing, sticking her hand into the gap and slipping through just in time. “Merci,” she said, then looked up to meet the other occupant’s eyes—

Hers widened in shock. Of all people to run into: Will. Her mouth fell ajar before she was able to recover. The doors closed with a ding behind her and she was effectively trapped with the man whose heart she had broken. “Hi,” she repeated dumbly, the greeting sounding foreign on her tongue. She dropped her gaze and took a slow step to the side, turning to fall in beside him, facing the doors. The French witch glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her attention lingering on the gingerbread tree in his hand--either he was visiting someone youthful, or he was still into childish confectionery (the marshmallow bunnies sprang to mind)--before drifting up.

It was as though he’d been waiting for her to find her way back to his face. She offered a weak smile, feeling an odd rush of appreciation--and that was all--that he was making some sort of effort -- especially after how they’d left things the last time she had seen him. “I prefer Cantique de Noël,” she replied.

He looked well, if a little tired. She couldn’t help but think she probably looked tired too -- seemed to be a normal thing at this time of year, and she was looking forward to some time off. “Are you visiting...” she trailed off, shaking her head softly, “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”  She had no right to ask him questions like that anymore, even if he was being polite. The French witch turned her head back to face the doors, eyes looking up at the ceiling awkwardly. 

Will smiled at her quickly before he looked back at the lift doors. At best, it'd be a nice quick chat and at worst, it'd be thirty seconds of pure agony before the doors opened and they were free again. It was always going to be awkward bumping into an ex and while he was used to being the dumpee, not the dumper, he'd also been a dick toBérénice  and he wasn't sure he was ready to say sorry about it.

He didn't need to look at her to know exactly where she was standing because he could feel the residual heat clinging to her coat. She'd seen the gifted gingerbread and he cleared his throat as a wave of embarrassment washed over him and he quickly deposited it into his coat pocket. It wasn't until they'd broken up that Will realised that he'd usually felt self-conscious around Bérénice. It was never her fault but he'd never really been on her level. He wasn't smart enough, strong enough, wealthy enough. He'd never managed to be quite himself and he'd wondered if that was the reason he'd never met her parents.

"Ah, good choice," Will replied easily, relieved that she was at least making an effort. She shouldn't have to be nice but he appreciated it. His dark eyes watched the floor numbers count down as he clasped his hands in front of him, holding himself stiffly as he thought about what he could say. There were only two topics that came to mind - the weather or Christmas - and he didn't think he wanted to know who she was spending the holiday with.

"Oh no, it's fine," he said with a quick laugh. "My aunt's not well," he explained as he scratched the back of his neck. "She's fine," he toldBérénice  quickly just in case she might start to worry. "My mum's on her way up so I didn't want to crowd her. You?" Will asked politely as he turned his head to look at her, unsure if he felt relieved or awful that neither of them were able to look at each other in the eye.Bérénice  looked like she was on her way out and he chewed his lower lip, jiggling his foot anxiously. "How have you been?" Internally, he winced. Things shouldn't be this excruciating.

He was still making an effort and Bérénice felt somewhat guilty that she couldn’t do more than tell him her favourite carol. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him fidget. Subconsciously, she mirrored him; holding her hands together in front of her.

Will said his aunt was sick and Nice’s brow knitted together in concern— but, oh, she was fine. Bérénice smiled smally, glad to hear it even though she had never met this woman -- she must mean something to William for him to visit. He mentioned his mother next and the French witch tensed, her face falling. She was immensely grateful that he kept asking questions so that she had something else to think about.

“Just visiting a friend,” she told him honestly, then realised that could perhaps be misconstrued -- she had been in Will’s shoes once, she knew what it was to never really be able to see someone in a certain way ever again. “An old colleague,” she clarified, “not a patient. He works in the Emergency Department.” She supposed that he might still infer what he wanted from that, but she felt like if she tried to explain any further it would just sound more and more like she had something to hide.

The lift seemed to be descending at a glacial pace -- she wondered if it had always been this slow, or had she just picked the less efficient of the two elevators.

She turned her head to face Will again, surprised he was still trying to talk to her. “I— Well,” she answered. “I’ve been well.” She almost didn’t want to ask, wary of the answer: “And you?”

A friend she said and it was difficult not to look over at her but he managed to stop himself, mid-turn. This was silly. Bérénice was a grown woman and they'd ended things months ago - she was allowed to "see a friend" without him being all weird about it. He nodded before he gave a laugh, not quite borne of relief, but of something else.

"It's okay," Will told her quickly, his eyes locked to the front. "You don't have to tell me everything." Or anything, really. Bérénice said the Emergency Department and he wondered if she'd ever been in the middle of all the mayhem and chaos once in her life. She was more than capable. She was a very intelligent woman but she was soft and gentle. He couldn't really see her elbow deep in blood and guts, despite him knowing she'd excel at it.

"That's good," he told her quickly with a tight smile, the tinny music playing really starting to get on his wick. He wanted to pry. They'd ended on such bad terms, he couldn't blame Bérénice if she went back to France at a breakneck pace. But he wanted to know. It just felt wildly inappropriate. It was like Will wasn't allowed to ask how she'd been, he was no longer privy to that information. He had no doubt that she'd "been well" because he'd heard the rumours.

"Fine," Will replied, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Busy with work and deadlines and --"  Bérénice already knew his schedule, it hadn't changed in a long time, it hadn't still since they'd met. She didn't care, she was just being polite. He could lie and say that he was seeing someone, just to rub it in her face, but what was the point? Putting her down wouldn't make him stand any taller but there was a stigma at being single when an ex had moved on. It was almost embarrassing.

The floor numbers ticked by and he bit the sides of his tongue. "I'm probably going to do some Christmas shopping," he ventured as he put his hands back in his pockets, feeling tense as he held himself stiffly, his fingers holding onto the gingerbread cookie so tightly that he felt it break. He exhaled in a sharp sigh. Well if that wasn't a metaphor, he didn't know what was. "You're heading home?" He assumed at long last, the dainty ping! of the opening door announcing their arrival - finally. "After you."

Will laughed and Bérénice’s eyes widened -- unsure what, exactly, was funny about what she had said. It took his half-explanation for her to realise it was her need to explain herself that had tickled him. In a conscious effort not to take visible offence the corner of her lips twitched in the barest of smiles.

The small talk was almost unbearable -- she had never enjoyed it, with anyone, much less in this particular circumstance they found themselves. Will said he was busy and Nice smiled a little warmer than before; “I know what that feels like.” She had thought being a professor might be a more relaxed sort of schedule, but if anything she found herself never able to truly ‘switch off’ -- of course, having patients had been similar in that she was always worrying about them even on her days off, but this was different somehow. There was almost an expectation that she would always be available.

They had grown quiet for what must have only been a moment, but in the confines of the elevator felt like it stretched on uncomfortably long— then Will spoke again. Bérénice couldn’t tell at first if he was inviting her along for the afternoon, but he pivoted so quickly she didn’t get a chance to work out if she would have said yes or no -- her portkey wasn’t booked for another two hours, so she had time to fill.

“I will be heading home, yes, but—” The lift dinged and the doors opened. Will gestured for her to exit first and she did, pausing a little way out of the way. She still felt bad about how everything had ended between them, and wouldn’t it be better if they could salvage some of the good memories? “I was going to do some as well,” she said suddenly, then clarified: “Christmas shopping.” She was being as vague as Will had been, she realised. “I— Not that I know London so well as Paris,” she smiled, hinting without putting herself too far out there in case he politely declined her company.

Bérénice had been busy, too, she said. A very sudden and uncharacteristically dark thought of yeah, juggling two men will do that to you came out of nowhere and he frowned, clearing his throat, the thought settling uncomfortably. "Classes going well?" Will asked her politely, hating every single excruciating second of this small talk. This wasn't fair. He hadn't been expecting to see her again, so the universe hadn't even awarded him time to make himself look good.

Bérénice was going home and he nodded, offering a smile, wondering if they'd cross paths in another couple of years before his face fell. "Oh." She was going Christmas shopping, too. Will was too late to catch his face and he was sure she'd seen it. They hadn't been particularly chatty when they were dating, so he could only imagine how terrible it'd be now. But no. He was raised to be polite and so, he smiled quickly.

"I'm sure London doesn't have anything on Paris," Will said courteously, knowing damn well that was a lie. He'd once scoured the streets for her Christmas present and came up lacking. It was all gold jewelry and macarons and warm white fairy lights; it lacked the festive flair and mismatched decorations of his home town. Paris was too clinical - it matched Bérénice perfectly. "Did you --" he stopped, neatly moving out of the way of a harassed-looking Healer with a clipboard. "Did you want to come along?"

But Will was being rude. She was obviously trying very hard to make this as painless as possible so he owed it to her to at least try. "What is it you need to buy?" He asked Bérénice . "I figured I could narrow it down for you," he said gamely as he held the door open for her to exit, instantly recoiling from the cold as he did so. "It's bloody brass monkeys out here," he complained as he huddled into his coat. "Come on, we'd better get you a coffee," Will said as he placed a hand on the small of her back and encouraged her to walk with him.

A year ago Bérénice would have told him the truth--that he was right, London didn’t have anything on Paris (the decorations here were so tacky)--but now it would just come across as rude and superior, rather than teasing (and maybe still a little bit superior). “London has it’s charms,” she said instead, smirking softly.

Nice stepped back out of the way of the Healer rushing past, then quickly closed the gap between her and Will again. “I’d like that,” she replied with a warm smile.

He was straight to business and the French witch blinked, trying to remember (concoct) whatever it was she needed to buy. “I— Bits and bobs,” she said with a forced smile, borrowing the English term she’d heard him use more than once, as she slipped her coat on and tied the wrap about her waist tightly. Will opened the door for her and Bérénice went to step through it, hesitating confusedly at his expression (brass monkeys? What did that even mean?)—

The feel of Will’s hand on her lower back was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once— coupled with the offer to buy her a coffee— Nice swallowed, wondering if perhaps this was a bad idea.

She stepped out into the blustery street and crossed her arms over her front -- in hindsight, she should have cast a warming charm before leaving the comfort and protection of the hospital, but it was too late now. “You will have to show me the way,” she told Will, her jaw already held tensely in the biting wind. He chose a direction and she walked alongside him closely in an attempt to (subtly) leech some of his warmth. “What—” She was almost knocked off balance by a strong gust, but righted herself quickly enough, “What did you need to buy?” she queried, peering at him through thick eyelashes.

Bits and bobs she said and he laughed, genuinely amused before he cut it short. He shouldn't be enjoying himself and he was a writer, he could fill in the blanks without Bérénice's help. The frigid wind whipped at his hair and he regretted not taking the time to grab his gloves but he could feel the warmth radiating from her back and  he cleared his throat as he dropped his hand.

"Come on," he answered her with a nod of his head towards the left as she followed, his feet taking him to the well travelled shortcut. Will didn't want to be rude but it was cold and he was thinking of himself this time, to minimise the encounter because every time he was in this position, he felt like he wanted to throw himself through a window.

Bérénice wobbled and he held his hand out to steady her but she seemed fine, so he hastily shoved them into his pockets. "You're okay?" He asked her out of habit, flicking his eyes down to her before he quickened his pace, head bowed against the gusting wind - it really was a piss-poor time for a reunion. This couldn't have happened in the summer when he was tanned and they could go to a beer garden but instead, they were facing the onslaught of panicked Christmas shoppers.

"Just a couple of little odds and ends," Will answered, unintentionally vague. "Bows and wrapping paper, some cards. I've got to get Dave a new lead before I drop him off at my mum's. And wine," Will said with a frown, starting to panic. He'd made a list but he'd lost it. He needed some gifts for the staff at Write Hand Press. Paula, his secretary usually did it, but he thought it'd be a good idea to get properly involved. And he regretted it already.

"I don't know about you but I think my fingers are about to drop off," Will announced dramatically as he held the door open for Bérénice to shelter momentarily, the warm air rushing up to meet him and making the tip of his nose turn pink. At least if he had a cup to hold, he'd have a reason to stop fidgeting. They could drink and walk and not tell each other anything about what had transpired since the last time he'd yelled at her.

The French witch nodded, though the motion was mostly lost as she tucked her chin down against the wind. It took her a (confusing) moment to remember who Dave was--had briefly wondered why Will would be buying his friend a lead--and then felt awful that it had taken less than a year to begin forgetting things about the man she had once thought she would know intimately for the rest of her natural life (though a part of her blamed him for naming his dog Dave).

“Wine,” she repeated with an intentionally more enthusiastic smile, as if it would make up for everything she had put him through (and just thought about him). “I can assist with that one, if you like?” It occurred to Nice after she had offered that wine was generally a gift for a woman, and that might be pushing it a little -- but then again, what would be a better olive branch than to show willingness to help with that?

Will stopped and opened a door; Bérénice didn’t hesitate long before stepping through it and into a café. She paused just inside, looking expectantly back at him as he came up behind her -- this appeared to be a moldu premises, judging by the distinct lack of wizardwear, wands, or other magical clues, and the presence of an electronic till, humming refrigerated cabinet, and people hunched over mobile telephones.

The brunette brought her hands up to loosen her coat a little, now that they were out of the wind, and made sure her hair was as it should be (a low chignon). “I don’t have pounds,” she told him in what she hoped was an obvious tone. “I can pay you back,” she added, more quietly.

There was a brief moment of hesitation as he wondered if her offer was appropriate. He thought the idea of an ex was that both parties were supposed to cut off all contact. His grandmother used to tell him that if a person was friends with someone after they'd ended a relationship, they were still in love. Or they never were. He didn't know which option he preferred.

"Yes," he answered. "Please," he laughed. "You always had impeccable taste," Will told Bérénice gently. He liked wine and drank it often but it came from his local supermarket and it wasn't particularly of high quality. He still enjoyed it, though. "I think I heard rumours of a stall selling some local wines," he added, as though that might be a reason for her to help him. He'd never had English wine before and he couldn't shake the thought that it might grossly taste like fish and chips.

She said she didn't have pounds and Will shot her curious look. "It's okay, I do," he insisted as he reached for a crumpled bit of orange coloured paper with a lady on it. His face changed into a look of horror as Bérénice  then insisted she pay him back.

"Oh no," Will replied quickly with a shake of his head, not even entertaining the thought. Just how bad were things if he couldn't even get her a cup of leaf water without her insisting she pay her own way? The idea of her owling him £3.75 made him feel physically sick. "No need," he said again, firmer this time. It made him uncomfortable when they'd been dating but even more so now that they weren't.  "Let me. Please," he insisted, as though it would somehow repair the damage.

"Just a black coffee, please," he asked the barista in their apron as he let the brunette order for herself, hands into his pockets as he shifted, his attention drawn to the cute little cookies before he decided against it because he was supposed to be protecting the illusion that he had his life together. Barely.

"How is everything?" He asked lightly and vaguely. He didn't really want to know anything about her love life but it was like a tongue seeking out a sore tooth - a comforting and familiar pain.

Nice glanced down curiously as Will pulled out his muggle money. “I—” she began, about to argue, or explain, at least -- she simply didn’t want him to think she was expecting him to pay (she was). “Thank you,” she said instead with a small smile. The pureblooded witch had often had Francs in her purse, but then the moldus had changed to a new currency a year or so ago and she had taken that as a cue to give up (the Francs had since been deposited in a fountain, because what else was one to do with them?).

Will ordered a black coffee and Bérénice stepped forward.; “Café noisette— Ah, macchiato, please.” She glanced sidelong at her ex, and caught him looking down at some decorated sugar cookies; she glanced in the opposite direction and softly rolled her eyes where he couldn’t see. “Everything?” she repeated at him as she brought her focus back, a teasing smirk on her full lips as she gazed up at him with slightly raised eyebrows. Rather than answer, she moved to find a table and let him pay for their drinks.

She chose a bar-like table at the window, facing out to the blustery street. Nice removed her coat, revealing the plain white blouse and deep forest green skirt underneath, and hung it over the back of her chair before sitting, smoothing her skirt under her. Will joined her a moment later, their knees brushing as he took his seat beside her. “Work is busy, as always,” she told him, not missing a beat from his attempt at a conversation starter, and eager to avoid talk of everything else. “And you?”

Will didn't want to fight about a cup of coffee. In fact, he wasn't sure he and  Bérénice had argued about anything during their time together and he couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing. Weren't relationships supposed to be vaguely volatile? If everything was plain sailing, boredom would set in. "You're welcome," he said quickly, admiring the change he'd received in his palm with a look of mild interest. In a similar vein to the brunette, Will wasn't sure what to do with the money, so he deposited it in the tip jar but decided to keep the shiny one shaped like a heptagon.

He turned just in time to catch Bérénice's teasing smile and wondered if he'd put his foot in it again. He had size 12s, it was very easy to do so. Realising that she was trying to make light of the situation, he offered a sheepish smile. What else was he supposed to ask an ex-girlfriend? How's your new boyfriend? The thought made him want to throw up a little.

"Oh, that's good," he said kindly as he sat down beside her as their knees bumped and he turned to look at her, suddenly warm as he shrugged off his coat.  Bérénice was wearing his favourite shade of green and his dark eyes were drawn to it before he blinked. "How is school?" Will asked as he blew cautiously across the surface of his coffee, the heat searing his almost-frozen fingers through the china but it felt rather nice.

He swallowed, reaching for the sugar before tipping some in and stirring. "They're well," Will said quickly because no matter what happened, he figured he'd always be well. "Mum and dad are fine," he nodded distractedly. He paused. Had conversation always been so difficult between them? If so, he couldn't really blame her for the break up.

"Work's great," he nodded, poking at the bubbles in his coffee with his teaspoon. "Everyone wants a book for Christmas," he told Nice with a tired smile. "I've been on a few dates," Will finally admitted. It was the elephant in the room and he wasn't daft enough not to notice it. Someone had to say something before his head exploded.

Nice didn’t miss the way Will’s eyes roamed over her, admittedly with less hunger than she was used to from— but now wasn’t the time to think about him, or if having a coffee with Will was a good idea — they still hadn’t worked out what they were and it had been long enough that she was scared to ask. Was that healthy? Probably not.

She met Will’s eyes and forced a smile. “School is fine,” she told him, aware that they were both struggling to make simple conversation — but was her unenthusiastic answer more to do with her lack of enthusiasm for her job, rather than to do with present company? When did teaching become a ‘job’ in her mind instead of a career? The brunette brought her coffee to her lips and sipped at it.

His parents were fine. “That is good,” Bérénice smiled more genuinely. “And your siblings?”

They were back to work being great, but Will seemed to have moved past whatever had been keeping his answers to the bare minimum. “I suppose that’s a good thing,” she commented lightly. “I mean, obviously for you,” he sold books after all, “but for society, too.” She had seen how quickly the moldus had descended into mindlessness as their technology supposedly ‘improved’. “I can’t fathom how people don’t read.”

Bérénice stared at Will for a brief moment, taken by surprise by his admission, but recovered swiftly enough (she thought) with a soft smirk. “Oh?” She had another sip of her coffee to give herself time to process without being required to say anything. She couldn’t begrudge him dating, after what she had done, but there was a bubble of something—smugness, perhaps—in her chest that he hadn’t revealed a new girlfriend. She felt awful for feeling it, but she was—smug—that even though she (still) wasn’t anything official with Harlan, Will hadn’t moved on quite that far either.

He didn’t immediately launch into further details, so Nice took the hint and asked; “How were they?”

School was fine, she'd said, and Will nodded encouragingly. Bérénice was one of those people who would always be fine. He didn't think he'd ever seen her slip in the time they were together. Well, except for where she'd cheated on him.

"Arden's great," the writer smiled. "Off travelling the world and not answering my owls and giving me a heart attack when I don't hear from her in weeks," he smiled fondly. "Elijah's doing well. One of his comics was in the Prophet the other week," he doubted she'd seen it, "so Mum's pinned that to the fridge door." Will paused. He should be asking something similar but who was he supposed to enquire about? Her cat? Or did she have a rabbit?

"Very good," Will answered  Bérénice quickly with a nod. It was good for him. Write Hand needed the sales but he was constantly striving to have the boost for the whole year, not just from October onwards. In spite of himself, he laughed before he sipped his coffee. "The mind boggles," he said lightly, wondering why he'd steered the conversation this way. It sounded stilted and uncomfortable but it wasn't as uncomfortable as his need for his ex to know that he was completely and utterly over her. It was a sudden urge. He hadn't meant to make her feel sad but everyone knew the first person to move on after a break up was the winner.

With his eyes on his coffee, Will absently popped the bubbles with his teaspoon before he looked up again. "They're good so far," he smiled quickly. "I'm just getting back into the swing of things," and he was thankful to Honey because he knew he wasn't quite ready to make the leap without a gentle push. "Lydia's lovely," he smiled, genuinely, his eyes crinkling at the edges. It was nice to look forward to meeting up with someone.

Will looked up at  Bérénice carefully as he waited a moment. "How is Harlan?" He asked her, his eyes flicking back and forth across her face expectantly.