{k e e p i n g a c o m f o r t a b l e d i s t a n c e} harlan

"Are we?" Harlan returned the question, his tone half-rhetorical despite the fact that it was genuine. Given the opportunity, he had no idea what he would classify whatever they were. They weren't friends but they certainly weren't acquaintances, either. "I wouldn't know what to call us," He said as painfully honest as most of his thoughts. When marginally comfortable, it only meant he would inevitably overstep in some way.

"We're not friends," Harlan almost grinned. Not like that," He nodded vaguely to the inn, to where he imaged her party was still kicking on. They had only been around each other a handful of times, and almost every time had always been accidental. Call him old-fashioned, but Harlan classified a friend as someone he knew more intimately.

"Good to know," He breathed a laugh, glancing over to Ros and thankful for the lightness in conversation. He hadn't thought he was a pirate in the first place (what a stretch), but the mental image was entertaining either way. Following her eyes to the sky, he settled into the bench, folding his arms over his chest. "I enjoy a lot of things," He said simply in retort, leaving the statement hanging for a breath.

"Just the things I enjoy," He clarified. The idea seemed so simple to him that he couldn't fathom otherwise.

The brunette witch frowned thoughtfully about ready to argue the point before she stopped herself. She supposed he was allowed to have his own opinion on this but it made her head hurt a little to think too hardly about it. Roslyn liked to simplify the things that mystified her about other peoples motivations. She'd been under the impression they were friends, of a sort anyway. Wasn't him her inviting him and him showing up enough proof of that? "Roslyn." she said, pointing at herself with a bit of a grin, "Harlan." she added, her palms sneaking up across his shoulders in a squeeze before poking him as a clear identifier. Clearly she was kidding a bit but there went that oversimplification again. "Roslyn and Harlan." she teased, teal eyes sparkling at the utterly lame joke.

"We could be, if you wanted." she murmured, suddenly feeling rather shy, as she tucked a stray strand of brown hair where it belonged. "I always wanted to be friends with a professional quidditch player, even if said player is a traitor." she added, laughing a little, as her gaze strayed away from his eyes. "Books premier among them. At least you have good taste." she complimented as she took another drink. She meant both her present and his taste in books of course.

Harlan watched with interest as Roslyn pointed to herself, and then more interest as her palms snaked the plane of his chest in the direction of his broad shoulders. He eventually acquiesced. There was an involuntary reaction to being touched that he wished he could dismiss, always, but there he was, left craving just a little bit more. He shifted on the bench to face her a bit more squarely, giving her wrist half of a squeeze.

Was it a warning or a prompt? He wasn't sure.

With a breath, he finally laughed. "What, are we in primary school?" It felt reminiscent of the times when you had to ask someone to be your friend; unabashedly and impossibly pure. His tone wasn't unkind, but there was a real question amidst the jest. "Oh, so that's all I am?" Harlan teased further (despite the fact that it was a bit of a sore spot for him— being only that). "A professional quidditch player," He clarified as he settled back again.

The compliment about his taste hadn't been lost, either.

One day she would learn not to be quite so bloody handsy, the thought to herself, a little rueful twist of her mouth, the only sign she felt the least bit bad about the proximity or the touch. She couldn't help but grin a little as Harlan gave her wrist what she took to be a rather gentle rebuke for her sort of overt familiarity. He didn't say anything, really, and his touch had been rather gentle but she still made a mental note to try a bit harder not to glomp him. Some people, she knew, tended to shy away from contact, even when it was friendly. Her thoughts were distracted with him shifting, though, and she couldn't really blame herself for the little thrill she felt at having made him laugh.

"Are you calling me immature?" she asked, mustering a good deal of heat before she burst with laughter. It was her opinion that most wizards took themselves a bit too seriously. There was something cathartic about being able to exist in a place where you could see the positives in any situation, as well as the humor. She felt quite strongly that if you couldn't laugh at a bad situation you'd just end up crying, and, truly one was more productive than the other.

Oh, so that's all I am?

His words echoed in her brain for a second, teal eyes widening, as she found herself at a loss of how to respond. It was as if her brain just froze completely uncomprehending as to his meaning and deciding she had hyperactive squirrels in her head instead. Oh bother she wasn't sober enough to give that question the proper and nuanced thought it deserved. And then her insolent brain caught up to the rest of his words, so effortlessly tacked on, as if he hadn't just- "Seems to me that's all you'd like to be." she started, feeling her neck flush, as she tried to keep her tone playful. Part of her higher brain functions were telling her to tread with caution but she'd never really listened to that voice overmuch. She wasn't very good with caution most the time though she had learnt to be careful. "Or am I wrong about that, Mr.I-think-your-in-primary?" she questioned, eyes sparkling, and drink forgotten, she leaned forward in challenge.

Right, well, self control had never been her strong suit.

"Did I say that?" Harlan asked after a moment, not unkindly but not entirely jokingly and despite the grin that was painted over his features. It was less of a maturity thing and more of a— well, he didn't know what it was exactly. It crossed his mind that maybe he had been thinking it. Not that he would say it, of course. "Don't ask to be my friend" He added more gently, though firm.

He had settled against the back of the bench, his arms crossed over his chest, when Roslyn carried on his train of thought with further question. Seems to me that's all you'd like to be. His eyes hardened on her, more focused than before and entirely unaware of the groups of people that had started gathering down the hillside to see the fireworks.

"You think all I'd like to be is a quidditch player?" He clarified, his disdain masked, genuinely curious.

It was an unsettling feeling, that it was all that he was.

She shot the man before her a look, one that said quite plainly that he didn't have to in order for his meaning to be know to her. She'd gotten it all before, really, and a large portion of her behavior was deliberate so it didn't offend her exactly. Disappointed, maybe, but she didn't know what to do with that reaction anymore than he seemed able to help himself from offering it. "Alright, then." she murmured, wondering, if she couldn't count him as a friend then what could she possibly categorize him as? He wasn't a stranger, obviously, and with the option of friendship off the table she wasn't sure where to place him, exactly. She supposed wanting to kiss him wasn't a friends sort of thought but she hadn't admitted that out-loud and so he should really have no objection to it all.

She was sort of offended he didn't want to be her friend. She was a good one. Ah tipsy thoughts were back, damn it.

His next question was a good one, and she leaned back a bit to give her space enough to process. She took another swig of her drink, glancing at the sky, as she thought through her words. To say he only wanted to be a quidditch player would be a disservice to what she really thought about him and not anymore true than her wanting to only be an Auror. She wondered at that, for a moment, because she used her job as a shield. There were a select few people these days that knew her to be ridiculous because she didn't act like this in front of many, that she'd unconsciously done so with Harlan should be worrying. In the end, though, it was only one more layer of who she was. Its not like she told her friends what really went on around work, or vice-versa. She led a compartmentalized life because it was the only way she'd felt like she could function as a bloody adult most days.

There was nothing wrong with wanting peace and joy on her off time and she pondered again, what went on in Harlan's head when he wasn't busy with Quidditch. What did he want, outside of the sport he'd dedicated himself to, she wondered. "I think a person can want many things, often at once, but our actions dictate what we end up with." she said, her lips curling up into a wry grin. "What we want for ourselves rarely unfurls as we want it so I guess the real question is do you want to be more than just a Quidditch player?" she asked, shrugging a little, as her gaze snapped back to his. "It hardly matters what I think, though, does it?" she hadn't truly answered his question, and her gaze flickered back towards the sky. Almost time, then. 

Harlan recognized the shift in her tone. It was one that he knew well— not Roslyn, specifically— but the sentiment felt familiar. Some shade of disappointment. His chest tightened uncomfortably and he steeled himself to sit a bit more upright3 as if that would stop the bloody guilt from seeping in.

"I meant, you shouldn't want to be my friend," He clarified. And he hoped they could leave it at that.

Harlan wasn't sure if he was following her train of thought, but he tried— his eyes narrowing, upturned to the sky, and suddenly expectant for the fireworks he hadn't even planned on seeing. That was the real question? Whether or not he wanted to just be a quidditch player? Harlan took a breath to let that soak in before glancing over at her.

"Of course I do," He couldn't help but let out something of a chuckle. "Would you just want to be an Auror?" He quipped, goodnaturedly despite the fact that he was mildly offended by the notion having even gotten to the point of a question. Did anyone really just want to be what their profession was?

She wasn't exactly sure how they'd gotten here, exactly, and though she blamed the alcohol she sort of blamed herself. She shouldn't have been projecting her own problems onto someone else and she felt plenty bad about it. She supposed this wasn't even where she'd thought the night would go, when she'd initially invited him. Her mind had gone towards a possible continuation on whatever had almost happened. But then she had enough 'almost' to fill a small building with. She'd been living her life on almosts for years now and, well, that had been her decision hadn't it? This respite that Will had afforded her with her mother had been something she felt like she needed, if only to get her own priorities in order.

Her gaze flickered over towards Harlan again, and she took her time looking. Handsome, of course he was, and she felt a pang of something just looking at him. He'd unconsciously echoed sentiments she'd already heard from another mouth. And if she wasn't willing to listen to Fergie she doubted Harlan would fair better at convincing her, despite how earnest he seemed to about it. "Noted." she said quietly, meeting his gaze head on and letting the words speak for themselves. You couldn't really control the things you wanted, but it was a nice sentiment. Warning her off just meant that he was a decent sort of man, whatever might've been lurking behind his words. She'd dealt with worse, she was very certain of that, because she dealt with truly bad men, she knew what those looked like. They certainly weren't the type to bring gifts, or share their time with someone just because they'd been asked.

"I used to." she admitted, tearing her gaze away, a sardonic twist of her lips there and gone in a flash, as she leaned back in preparation for the fireworks. "When the war started, and even after we let a 17 year old end it. It was all I could think about." she admitted, regret lining her face, because she hadn't wanted to even be human, then. Didn't have space past just being an Auror. It hadn't seemed fair, that the entirety of the wizarding world had left their fate weigh upon someone who'd just gone through his majority. She'd seen a lot of things since that plagued her, constantly. It wasn't just failed relationships that had soured her on letting someone into her heart but the aftermath of the war that lingered on her like the ghost of a fingerprint. She put on a rather good show, she'd learnt how, and she was glad to but she wished sometimes that someone could understand her. She thought, sometimes, that maybe Ash had similar experiences with loss and could understand but despite their similarities there were some glaring differences too. Where he ran from things that hurt, she embraced those things.

Perhaps she'd thought Harlan would understand the sentiment but ... perhaps not. "You're a good man, you know?" she murmured, a small smile tugging her lips. "Shite Quidditch player, of course, but we can't all be Circenn." she teased, grinning up at him. She'd been a big fan of Harlan when he'd played for her team, hard not to be, and he really was an excelent player. He knew that, had to have figured out from their first interaction that she'd followed him when she did. That she still followed his games now would remain her secret. It was a bit disloyal to her home team, of course, but no one would know that except for her. "Oh I almost forgot. You might be interested in this, its in May." she said, summoning the ministry gala invite from her purse, and handing it over. She felt like she could add more than that but in the end she decided she'd done enough to dampen the mood.

Suddenly the sky burst with colors, and a soft sigh of pleasure escaped her as her eyes roved over the sky, enjoyment clear on her face, as a bright grin followed.

So perhaps comparing the two wasn't exactly fair— of course, being an Auror carried a different sort of weight than being a Quidditch player. Either way, the concept of creating a monolith of one's self, defined only by one thing, didn't sit well with him; even doing something as good as trying to save the bloody world. And it was good, he thought as he studied Ros while she spoke.

"That's fair," He conceded easily. It was rare for him to simply accept that he might have been wrong in his assumption.

He was a good man. "Ha," Harlan let out a bark of a laugh, sitting back and glancing over his shoulder at her to see if she was being serious or not. "If you say so," It was clear that he didn't entirely agree with the sentiment. For the most part, his intentions were good, but he had done enough in his lifetime to know he couldn't fully fit the bill.

Harlan studied the thick parchment Roslyn had procured and read the fine cursive lettering. Simon had mentioned the Ministry Gala in passing and he figured he would have been going either way. "Oh, thanks—" He was about to say as much when the sky erupted in color. He half-jumped before realizing it was just the fireworks.

fin

Delight suffused her features at his conceding the point and she felt very mature for not rubbing it in with words. She just smiled instead, bumping his shoulder with hers and shaking her head a bit at his rather fetching bark of laughter. She understood from his reaction alone that he didn't agree with that anymore than he'd agreed with anything else she said tonight. It should bother her more than it did but she'd always enjoyed the verbal spar as much if not more than a physical one.

"I do." she confirmed, smiling rather fondly at him, as whatever tenseness remained just rolled off her. This was... nice. Unexpected, but nice. She'd formed her opinion, despite the fact that Fergie and Harlan seemed to be in agreement about what sort of man he was. It was funny to her and she really wanted to needle Fergie about it a bit. A man that could live to have regrets, ruminate over past misdeeds, and feel sorry for those things couldn't be as bad as they both made out. Sometimes people just made mistakes.

"You're welcome." she murmured, laughing a little, as she saw the big man jump a bit in his seat. They enjoyed the fireworks in silence, then, her words having dried up in her throat. She wanted to invite him back to her place but felt like it still wasn't a good idea. There was lingering guilt about wanting that, too, that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Sometimes things were just meant to be enjoyed and admired, she mused as her gaze roved over his face. They wouldn't have much more alone time, though. Her friends and brothers would wonder where she was after the fireworks. "Would-" she started, feeling on the cusp of something as her bravery reeled up. Just ask.

But as she looked at him she just couldn't. She leaned forward anyway, fingertips lightly brushing along his jaw, as she studied him with a warm teal gaze. "Thanks for coming, and for my present." she murmured quietly, as her lips brushed lightly against his cheek, the barest sort of pressure imaginable as she leaned back with a bit of a flush. She allowed herself to savor the closeness for a small moment before she leaned back and slowly made her way towards her feet. The fireworks were slowly petering out by now and she shot him a bright grin. "I'll let you make your grand escape, then, alright? Maybe I'll see you at the gala, I'll try not to play favorites during the auction." she added, a light tease, as her heartbeat thumped.

She was... strategically retreating. Not running away.

fin