[edinburgh] not here looking for absolution [maisie]

because i've found myself an old solution
feb fifteenth, two-thousand and four,
too early in the morning

"Mayyyyyyyyyyy-zeee." Jon's forehead hit the front door of her flat with a dull thud. The roses in his hand were beginning to wilt from the warmth, and he was in no state to try and freshen them up with magic. Goddamn magic. He had lost a button just Apparating here, his head hurt, his face was probably still fucking red, all the magical remedies in the world and they still hadn't managed to solve Asian Flush, the bastards, and he knew Maisie was home, she had to be home, didn't she? "Maisie. Mary-Liz. Em-Zee." Thud, thud, thud against the white-painted wood.

He fucked up, he knew he fucked up, that's why he was here, wasn't it? With goddamn roses and chocolates like some lovesick schoolboy. It was just past one in the morning, now. He had missed Valentine's Day completely, stood her up, the time of their appointment at the Archive ticking closer and closer and then into the rearview. He had known, vaguely, that the gig was likely to go long, that he would probably end up staying at the cafe for too long, that there would be drinks with the venue owner and the waitresses and bartenders and then it was eleven-fifty-nine and he had gone all the way home before realizing.

"Come on, babe. Let me in. I'm sorry." He was soberer than he had been, not sober enough to keep the edge of wheeling out of his voice. His jumper was too warm -- he shucked it off, tossed it to the floor beside Maisie's door so he was just in his sweat-drenched tee and black jeans. Downstairs, he could hear some neighbours grumbling. Probably about the racket he was making. He growled under his breath. Maybe he should just leave. Thud, thud, thud.

The bag of Ripple Fudge was getting crinkled in his hands. Jon stared at it for a moment, bloodshot eyes taking a moment to focus. He came to a decision -- fuck this, let's go home -- and set it down on the mat outside Maisie's door. Fuck this.

He had only made it two steps down the staircase before the door opened. His eyes lifted to Maisie Miller despite himself, a lopsided grin stretching over his face as he turned back around. "Babe." There was a little bit of self-satisfaction in his tone, a little bit of relief.



@Maisie Miller

I'm sorry, miss, but I need your table.

The words clanged around her head as she walked through the cold Edinburgh streets, her pace fast and her gaze unfocused, her breath coming out in little ragged puffs. Embarrassment and shame flooded her system and cooled her blood. She knew she'd been stood up. The waiter knew she'd been stood up. The loved up couple who were waiting for the table knew she'd been stood up but the last straw was when an older couple had given her a pitying glance and replied in a stage whisper that poor girl.

Utterly humiliated but surprised to think she'd this time would be anything different, Maisie's walk home was brief as she slammed her front door behind her and tangled her hands in her hair. Tears of frustration pricked the corners of her eyes as she paced the living room floor in the darkness, trying her hardest to calm down - she wasn't upset, she was livid.

How stupid was she? Johnny was about as reliable a chocolate teapot and she knew that. It had taken her about twenty minutes to talk herself down as she sat in the kitchen, her fingers wrapped snugly around a cup of tea, the heat searing her palms seemingly keeping her in touch with reality. Before a bang at the door made her jump.

The tea sloshed over the rim of her mug and burned her hand, causing her to swear loudly as she hopped up and grunted, her eyes flicking to the hallway as she held her breath. Maisie. Mary-Liz. Em-Zee. Maisie frowned - Johnny was completely trollied. Her knees jerked forwards, her body's automatic response was to go to him before her brain slammed on the brakes, leaving her hovering awkwardly by her sink.

She crept forward, the emerald satin of her dress rustling softly as she bit her lip. He'd called her babe. Surely that meant something? Maisie stood by her front door as she chewed anxiously on her thumbnail, her brain flip-flopping between ignoring him and letting him in. If he wasn't with her, then he'd be with somebody else. Before she could stop, her hand was on the handle and she opened the door, only to have him turn and face her.

Her dark eyes tracked down his chest to see the material clinging to the muscle and she swallowed, distracted, before noticing the roses on her doorstep. Maisie softened. She didn't particularly like roses (she was more a wildflower kinda girl) but he'd gone out of his way to buy them, even if they looked rather sad, and she appreciated that.

"Hi," she answered Johnny softly, her eyes reproachful as she folded her arms across her chest to convey the fact that she really wasn't very happy with him. She also wasn't very happy with herself how easily she could be swayed. She stared at him for a moment before she stepped aside and opened the door further, nodding her head to the left in an invitation for Johnny to step inside. Maisie then stooped to pick up the flowers and held them to her chest like they were a precious artifact before giving them a sniff.

"Thanks," the petite witch offered, meaning the flowers, flicking her eyes up to Johnny. She knew the story. He got held up, the band needed something, he was busy, he lost track of time, he didn't mean to. Closing the door behind him, she looked around her apartment because looking at him was always a bit too painful. "Where have you been?" Maisie asked him directly.

The door creaked open. When he turned, Jon was already beginning to smile, not realizing until he laid eyes on his girl that he had been a little afraid maybe it wouldn't be her at the door. Johnny was certainly the jealous type. But she was alone, standing there in the doorframe with wide, red eyes. Hi, she said, and he thought he could hear some tightness in her throat. "Hi," he said back, relief coursing through him.

They stood there a moment, him in the hall, her at the door staring at his shirt. One beat, then another, before Maisie crossed her arms and stood aside. It was a clear invitation to come in. Jon scooped his jumper off the floor and moved inside, swiftly, before Maisie could change her mind. She didn't follow him in right away, scooping up the roses on the doorstep first before turning to him. He took a moment to drink her in with his eyes. Even in her clear distress, Maisie looked a treat; her dress was gorgeous, flirtatious, and showed off all the best bits of her.

She thanked him. Johnny's smile dropped. She didn't sound impressed. Jon set the box of chocolates down on an end table. Maisie didn't sound like she wanted to eat sweets off his chest, which had been half the original plan before he had fucked it all up. "Gig," he said shortly, watching and willing her to make eye contact with him. "I lost track of time." She could probably tell that, Jon could swear he was sweating alcohol. "M'sorry."

He wanted to go to her, so Jon did, hands reaching for her waist. "How can I make it up to you, babe? Whatever you want."

Maisie's smile was tight as he echoed her greeting right back to her and she nodded in acknowledgement. God, he looked great. He had that post-gig flush that made all the women around him go bananas. Johnny might have thought he was a smooth operator (he was) but she wasn't born yesterday. She'd seen a dozen sets of eyes glued to him when he was on stage and when he was in the moment, she faded into the background. Like tonight. Maisie sometimes wondered if she had a type. First Charlie, now Johnny.

She was at the sink, filling a vase with water as she dropped the roses in, her pale fingers delicately stopping to try and rescue some of the flattened blooms. These were clearly an afterthought but it was still a thought - he'd tried - and her resolve began to wilt. She was mad at him. He'd effectively stood her up and she was embarrassed but no one else had ever bought her flowers before. That had to count for something?

The gig was an explanation and she nodded. It seemed perfectly reasonable but if he had a gig, they could have gone out tomorrow. The weekend. Next week. It was Valentine's Day, for crying out loud. The day of love. And Maisie's silly childish reverie of having a boyfriend made it seem all the more painful that he'd forgotten. They could have met up at any other time. It shouldn't have been tonight.

"Okay," Maisie said gently, her eyes reproachful as she looked at him. It was a small mercy that she hadn't cooked dinner like she'd originally planned. There was a bottle of wine in the fridge, though, so that didn't help matters. It was a complete disaster and she blamed herself entirely.

Jon's apology, however, caught her off-guard. With a frown, she blinked at him before she bit her lower lip. He was so close. She could just step over to him, throw her arms around his neck and say that all was forgiven but her feet were planted firmly on the floor, almost like her body was resisting.

As though he'd read her mind, his hands were on Maisie's waist and she swallowed. Delicately, her cool hands rested on his upper arms out of habit, sliding over his shoulder blades softly. Her body instantly relaxed as her eyes flicked over his face. He'd already apologised and that was lovely but this wasn't a one-off. It had happened before but this was the first time he hadn't shown up. Usually, he was just late.

"I'm tired," she told Johnny. "And I got all dressed up for you," she lamented, despite him probably not knowing the hardship of traversing cobblestones in stilettos. Maisie didn't want to fight, it never solved anything and Jon could do a hundred things to make it up to her - take her out for dinner and not flirt with the waitresses, surprise her with a puppy, whisk her away to a Greek island or write a song about her. Or just acknowledge their relationship as an actual relationship.

"You can ask me out," she told Jonny in a soft voice, meeting his eye evenly. A beat of silence passed. "Like...as your actual girlfriend?" Maisie offered, a hint of optimism in her tone.