[maida vale] one way or another. [charlie]

Perdita had always liked this part of London, especially in spring time. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, pink and white, pleasing to the eye as they contrasted against the red brick exterior of the Victorian mansion blocks this part of the city was so famed for. She didn't often come here, despite not living too far away from the place. She'd be the first to admit that she didn't really "fit in" around here - it was all very young and artsy. And she was slightly haunted by the fact that she'd had a disastrous date recently where he'd taken her to the canal for a picnic (cute) but then she'd slipped and actually fell in (not so cute)

A pleasant tinkle of a bell announced her arrival as she stepped into the office's favourite coffee shop. If Perdy had been a Muggle, she didn't think she'd be sure the trek was worth it. It was hip in that dark-walls-organic-beans-soft-music sort of thing. With her files under her arm and struggling to keep them upright, she looked up. "Hi," she smiled at the barista, her bright blue eyes on the board behind his head as though she was weighing up her options, despite knowing what she'd get.

"A large soy latte with an extra shot and caramel drizzle." The barista shot her a look and Perdita raised her eyebrows in response. "And a black coffee, please." The latter was for her. He turned his back and she pulled a face, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. She was already dressed like she meant business, so she didn't want to be rude as well. Oh, they had muffins. Leaning over the glass counter, she pointed. "One of those as well, if you don't mind," she added with a sunny smile, as she decided on a double chocolate one.

Perdita handled over a note for payment and waited patiently, her long fingers delicately picking up a wooden stirrer, sugar packets and those little cardboard circles that didn't really help to keep herself from a scald. In a form of passive aggressive nicety, she dropped a few coins into the tip jar as she picked up her order, only to turn when she could have sworn her name was called.

Confused, she blinked as she scanned the shop. It was mostly empty, save for a group of "yummy mummies" who were steadfastly ignoring their babies as they gossiped by the window. Thinking she must have just heard something else, she frowned before her eyes then fell on Charlie. She froze. Surprise was clear on her pretty face as she raised a hand to wiggle her fingertips in a bewildered wave. Seeing someone in a coffee shop wasn't something strange but it was Charlie Baker and things between them had definitely been strange. Of course this was his borough. How had she forgotten? It almost felt like she was encroaching on his turf.

But Perdy wasn't rude so she stepped over to his table and offered a brief smile as she kept a polite distance. "Hi," she announced, unaware that her fingers had increased their grip around the takeaway cups and she'd now squeezed a dent into her muffin. Normally, she'd cut and run but he'd already clocked her.  "Nice to see you," she announced with a nod as she tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt.


@Charlie Baker

Charlie’s index finger of his right hand was tapping absently on his temple, his left hand was holding a novel open and aloft as he read it. He was settled into a plush armchair near the window that faced the street, with his ankle crossed over his other knee. There was already one empty mug on the table beside him that looked suspiciously like it had had hot chocolate in it; the second—still in progress—cup contained a latte.

He’d had freedom for almost as long as he’d not had it, now, but he still tended to feel stagnant—creatively—in his home, and what had been a desperate need to get out of the house had now become a soft habit. At first he’d just enjoyed having a bit of bustle around him, and then he’d started picking up on goings on around him as added inspiration; he had his notebook and pen, also on the table, ready should inspiration strike — but the novel he was reading now was purely recreational (though there was a chance that might influence him a little, too).

The bell tinkled as he tried reading the same line for the fifth time—the inanity of the conversation taking place between the women on the table next to him, coupled with baby noises and the occasional shriek, was slowly driving him up the wall—and his eyes casually glanced over to the door. He had to do a double-take, not sure if he’d imagined her. The moment she opened her mouth to order, though, Charlie accepted that it was definitely Perdita. He shrunk slightly in his chair, but wasn’t smart enough to not keep staring in disbelief that of all the places—

His face contorted as one of the toddlers screamed something unintelligible and he glared at the offending child, then her mother, before looking back to Perdita in time for her to look right at him. Shit. She waved at him and he almost looked around to check there wasn’t someone else she knew in the vicinity but— He sat up straighter and offered a curt nod in acknowledgement.

She picked up her order and he thought that would be that, but he could see out of the corner of his eye (he was pretending to read again — the same line) that she was approaching. He lowered his book and returned his foot to the ground, glancing up at her and wondering if he was supposed to get to his feet or remain seated. He stood and closed his book around his thumb, using it as a bookmark. “Hi,” he repeated, his eyes darting to the two coffees, files, and brown bagged treat of some kind she was somehow juggling. “Er, yeah,” he replied, insinuating the same and looking her over again upon noticing her very green, very velvet suit. “Are you— meeting someone?” he asked, meeting her eyes belatedly.

The child shrieked and Perdita visibly winced, unable to stop herself before she swore under her breath. She didn't understand kids. She couldn't understand why anyone would want them. Her eyes slid over to the table and while she'd admit the baby was cute, with chocolate cake on her chubby little cheeks, she was inches away from a tantrum.

Penelope! The mother called out, reaching over the table to grab hold of the baby's arms before she flung her lunch in Charlie's direction before it clicked. In a busy coffee shop, Penelope would sound like Perdita. The realisation that Charlie hadn't called her name in the first place hit and so now, she was hovering awkwardly at his table, juggling too many things and looking like a lemon. He didn't seem particularly pleased to see her and who could blame him?

His eyes were on her and confusion creased her pretty face. Christ, of all the days she was trying out something new, she had to run into someone familiar. She cleared her throat and tugged on the lapel of her blazer self consciously, making a mental note to never ever (ever) try to emanate Mary and her fashion choices again. Perdy shifted her weight to her left hip as she debated on lying. She could say she was meeting someone, a man, perhaps, but would that make her seem more pathetic? It would.

"My editor," she settled on a half truth as she held up the cups and in the process, dropping her muffin onto the table. Perdita heaved a sigh - if that wasn't an echo of her life lately, then she didn't know what was.  Her bright eyes looked at his empty cup, then to the novel, then to the notepad before they widened as he stood up, momentarily blindsided by the show of respect. "Oh, don't get up," she told him too late and with an embarrassed laugh. "I'm just going to --" she announced as she set a cup down on a nearby table and her files on an unoccupied chair, twisting her torso in an effort to stop the cramp from forming.

This must be his local, she assumed. "Are you?" The tall brunette asked politely, despite it not being any of her business if he was waiting for someone but she did have the decency to blush faintly. "I have to gather some information on Muggle fashion," she told Charlie quickly. It was laughable, really, and the irony wasn't lost on her. "I thought it might be a nice spot for some inspiration. There's a lot of weird stuff going on," she said in a soft voice, as if wandering around wearing robes was also normal. "You know, fully immersive research," she nodded, trying to convince herself that she wasn't totally out of her comfort zone.

Her editor. Charlie’s eyebrows rose up before he regained control of his face. “Right,” he nodded. He’d forgotten (again) that she had that new job now, with the magazine — the same one @Piper Morel worked at. He didn’t know why he was thinking about that — surely he’d slept with more Ministry witches than Label employees.

Perdita’s sweet fell to the table and Charlie shot his free hand out to keep it from rolling onto the floor; his fingers stayed gripped around the brown paper as he looked back at the tall witch. She set her things down on the next table over and lifted the little brown bag from his table to her new one.

“Hm?” He blinked at her. “Oh, meeting someone? No.” He crossed one arm over his front and gripped the opposite elbow, squeezing the flesh of his bicep awkwardly. “Just come here for a proper coffee sometimes,” he volunteered, about to gesture at his half-drank latte when he remembered the empty hot chocolate mug that he’d had first (he didn’t know why he had a thing about hot chocolates, but he did — probably said something about his fragile masculinity and he didn’t need to hear about it).

Charlie blinked again and had another look at her outfit. “Well, not a bad attempt,” he said in a vague compliment. “Are you—” Weird stuff. He glanced around the café at the yummy mummies in their activewear and the elderly couple on the far side in their pastels and pressed shirts. He supposed, to a wizard, it was weird. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. He glanced down at his own outfit: a vintage Beatles shirt and jeans. “I’m probably not any help,” he joked lightly.

“Is she meeting you here?” he asked, meaning her editor. He realised now why he’d been thinking about Piper — he really didn’t want her to walk through the door. “You can sit with us if you’re waiting,” he offered politely, half-moving to retake his seat.

He said he wasn't meeting someone and she nodded. London was littered with indie coffee shops and if he wanted to go unnoticed, this would be an ideal place. She tilted her head. "You don't own one of those coffee-maker-thingies?" Perdita asked in mild surprise. She'd always wanted one but had never really figured out how to use one. Just recently, she'd worked out how to use an iron - baby steps. She just assumed his place was full of the mod cons. Unless he wanted some fresh air or a change of scenery, both seemed like fairly normal wants and needs. It was also none of her business.

"Oh," she laughed, the tips of her ears turning pink in embarrassment. "Thanks," she said softly; she'd take it. Charlie gestured to his clothes. Perdita didn't know who the band were (were they a band?) but she smiled. "You always look good," she added without thinking.

"I think so," Perdita added vaguely. "I honestly don't see her much. I wouldn't be surprised if she forgot." She'd only met Piper a handful of times and she always looked a bit harassed and very busy but she seemed nice. In preparation, and when the mothers' backs were turned, she moved her index finger in a clockwork motion above the larger cup to cast a spell to keep it hot.

Charlie was being polite but she hesitated for a second. Was this a good idea? No. Could they be civil? Absolutely. Did she have any reason to avoid him? She cleared her throat and smiled, quickly shrugging off her jacket to drape it on the back of her chair. "Thanks," she nodded as she pulled her files towards her and flipped them open. Perdita's handwriting was looped and cursive, annotating various pictures that she'd clipped or stuck down to the pages. She liked to research things and she was good at her job, which was beneficial since work had filled the void of a boyfriend.

The chatter of the coffee shop was a nice background hum, especially now since baby Penelope had ceased wailing. There was a second's pause before she let out a frustrated sigh. She just didn't get it. Muggle fashion was influencing wizarding fashion. Young women wanted something more stylish and robes weren't always so practical. It would be summer soon and it called for sundresses for picnics and short skirts for sightseeing, not heavy robes in boring colours. The wheel needed reinventing.

Distracted, she looked up as something caught her eye. "You're working on something?" Perdita asked, pointing her pen at Charlie's notebook conversationally before she went back to her own folder, before scribbling down band tees? because even she had somehow ended up with a Banshee tee shirt. She thought everyone had one.

Charlie laughed lightly. “No, wouldn’t know how to use it,” he said, his eyes darting over to the shiny industrial coffee machine behind the counter. He was sure he could learn, if he wanted, but he’d seen the price of them (the smaller, household versions) in Curry’s when he’d last gone shopping with his mum and he’d nearly told her (out loud, in front of the sales assistant) to fuck off when she’d hinted at wanting one for next Christmas.

He pressed his lips together awkwardly, unused to giving Perdita compliments that didn’t lead-in to trying to shag her. He realised belatedly that the last time he’d seen her had been before his accident, before Christmas — when he’d unintentionally assumed the identity of her posh, wanky boyfriend (not that Charlie had ever met him, but the bloke owned an art gallery in Mayfair)— and then proceeded to fuck her in the cellar with her parents upstairs in the lounge, waiting— the same lounge they’d fucked in the time before that, on the rug in front of the fire— Christ, what was he playing at?

You always look good. Charlie blinked, then nodded once in acknowledgement. He wet his lips. “Not in that bloody jumper I didn’t,” he joked, smiling lopsidedly and desperately trying to get his thoughts away from whatever dangerous territory they were veering into.

It was only after he said it that Charlie realised he’d said she, but if Perdita had picked up on it maybe she’d assumed Charlie had had a strictly professional run-in with her editor (with any luck, anyway). His attention fell to Perdita’s finger as she charmed her cup to stay hot and he felt guilty for some inexplicable reason.

She sat a moment after him, joining him at his table and pulling some of her files closer. Charlie had a sip of his cooling latte and peered over at her notes as he set the mug back down. Perdita apparently had the same thought, and a moment later asked about his battered notebook. He instinctively reached for it, spreading his fingers out over the plain cover protectively. “Erm, not actively,” he said, sliding the journal closer to himself (and further from her). “Just ideas.”

“How’re things with—” he hesitated, barely, in a concentrated effort to remember the right name, in the hopes it would be a more convincing distraction, ”—Brennan?”

With a glance over her shoulder, she eyed the monstrous machine that hissed out steam and she could sympathise with Charlie. "Excellent point," she conceded. "I just used the instant coffee powder," she explained. "Little bit of hot water, Bob's your uncle," the tall brunette explained. "It tastes like anything you'd probably get in here," she shrugged, neglecting to mention that she bought her (fairtrade) coffee from Waitrose and that was why it tasted great.

Perdita was settled as she sipped at her coffee, flicking her bright eyes up as he mentioned the jumper. "I'm sure Ella would beg to differ," she teased jovially with a quick smile. To say her mother was a tiny bit obsessed with him would be the understatement. Perdita just thanked her lucky stars that her mother didn't read gossip mags or listen to popular music. There was a pause as she realised what she'd said. She met Charlie's eye again before she cleared her throat and dropped her gaze.

Things had gotten...weird, towards the end. It wasn't that things had become intense but rather, too close, too much. Their axis had tilted. It was just odd. It had spooked them both. Perdita had enjoyed it but after he'd left, it always left her with more questions and a headache. It was a good thing it was all over with now.

Charlie's defensiveness made her blink in surprise and she held her hands up to show she wasn't about to snatch it away. It must be song lyrics and she peered through his fingers curiously, trying to sneak a peek at anything written down before she flicked her eyes back up to his face. She nodded. "Oh cool," she responded with a quick smile. There were fans out there who decoded Charlie and the band's lyrics, dissecting them, picking them apart to look for meaning or who they were potentially written about. She tilted her head as she wondered how much money she could potentially get if she swiped it before her eyes widened at his question.

"You remembered," Perdy said with a soft laugh and shook her head. Fucking typical. He got it right after the wheels had fallen off. Charlie had called Brennan all sorts - Brendan, Brannan, maybe even Brian once or twice, but her smile fell soon after. She dropped her eyes to the table, embarrassment making the tips of her ears turn pink. She felt like this whole thing was her fault. Maybe if she'd been funnier, prettier, smarter, she and Brennan could have been on cloud nine.

"We're not together," she finally admitted. They never were together. "Things kind of fizzled out," Perdy stated with a nonchalant shrug as though the entire thing wasn't painful for her. Charlie had told her to try with Brennan before he left and she thought she had but evidently, not hard enough. "It's no big deal," she said quickly and with a smile that seemed tight at the corners. Brennan had been busy but the bottom line was that if he wanted to see her, he would have.

"But what about you?" Perdita enquired, changing tack. "You're all good and happy and stuff?"

Charlie’s brow furrowed—who the fuck was Ella?—before it smoothed out as the penny dropped: her mum. He shrugged, smirking. “Think she’d prefer me out of it,” he teased quietly, his head turned towards the counter but quite obviously peeking at her out of the corner of his eye. Perdita cleared her throat and he watched, with interest, as she appeared to be a little flustered. It took him a moment to put it together: he’d met her mum — both parents, in fact. Obviously it wasn’t like that but he could understand being mortified by your mother. “My mum’s a handful and all, don’t worry about it,” he told her, his tone warm.

Perdita raised her hands in mock surrender and Charlie’s hard stare softened apologetically. He hadn’t ever taken to the idea of anyone seeing the contents of his notebooks, and it was second-nature to protect the battered journal as if it was his innermost thoughts written down for the world to see — and wasn’t it? In rough draft, too, with less finesse than whatever ended up out there for public consumption — and even then, only a fraction of his ideas ever became anything substantial, ended up put to music, sung night after night on tour with endless speculation about the when, where, and (most importantly) who. Cool. she said, and Charlie rolled his lips inward and nodded.

Brennan seemed to work, though. Charlie relaxed as she laughed, just (but propped the notebook under the elbow furthest from her just to be sure). “I do pay attention sometimes,” he said defensively, though it was clear he wasn’t genuinely offended. Perdita dropped her chin and he could tell something was wrong — Christ, she wasn’t engaged or something was she? His eyes went to her left hand and he felt a weird relief to see her finger was bare — not out of jealousy, he just couldn’t imagine her settling for sub-par sex (wasn’t that why she’d still shagged him while she was seeing Brennan?). Then again, by the sound of her mother, maybe that was how the other half lived: marry for money and status, have a lover on the side.

We’re not together. Charlie met her eyes and instantly felt guilty. “Oh,” he said. “Right.” He swallowed, searching her face and picking up on the tightness of her smile. He wet his lips. “Need me to sort him out for you?” he joked with a weak smile of his own.

His mouth hung ajar; “Erm,” he hesitated — his immediate thought was yes, he was good and happy, and as he hesitated he tried to think why he couldn’t admit that; “Yeah,” he nodded, “you know me, keep myself entertained.” He offered her a quick, lopsided smile.

Perdita winced at Charlie's cheeky remark, despite being far from offended by it. "That's a bit close to home," she joked, her nose wrinkling in the way it usually did when she was trying to refrain from laughing. She wouldn't mention that Ella was besotted with him. Nor would she say that even Roger had nice things to (begrudgingly) say about him, aside from the fact he didn't like how Charlie sometimes dropped his Ts or his choice of football team.

He mentioned his mum and her smile softened. Perdita often wondered what it would be like to be part of a normal family. Away from all the ponies and private tutors and etiquette and piano lessons. Perdy wasn't so posh that she was unaware of her privilege but when she was younger, she'd been so jealous when she saw families eating fish and chips by the beach. Mundane. Casual. Ordinary. "I think that's their right," she nodded solemnly. "Especially after everything children put their parents through." Charlie and Perdita included.

Charlie moved his notebook closer to him and she wondered if the pages contained the next hugely successful album. Perdita hoped so. While she couldn't say she was a fan of his band's music, Charlie was a fantastic frontman. Charismatic and mesmerizing, it was difficult to take one's eyes off him when he was on stage. Her eyes flicked up to his and she offered a rueful smile. "Usually when you're trying to crack on to me," she bantered, well aware that it took two to tango.

Taking a quick sip of her coffee, Perdita shook her head as she swallowed. No. She didn't want to see that look on his face. Not from him. Her shoulders were tense and she held herself stiffly, despite trying her hardest to play nonchalant. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing. She and Brennan were very similar in lots of ways and familiarity did breed contempt. He was also hysterically unfunny, bless him, but her eyes did sparkle briefly. "Would you?" Perdita asked, playing along, elbow on the table and her chin in an upturned palm as she cracked a smile, genuine this time as her whole face lit up.  "One or two threats should suffice," she replied easily.

Charlie admitted that he was good and happy and Perdy nodded along quickly. For the first time in a long time, her first emotion wasn't jealousy. Or envy. Or bitterness. Christ, anyone would think she'd had an epiphany. Just as quickly, she read between the lines and she let out a snort of laughter, forcing herself to clamp a hand over her mouth.

With a good natured roll of her eyes, she leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest as she surveyed him with a smile. "You utter beast," she informed the musician with a shake of her head. The fact that Charlie was still apparently playing the field was a comfort. There were three certainties in life; death, taxes and Charlie Baker bonking his way around London.

There was a brief moment of silence as Penny, the screaming baby from before, began to find her voice again. "It really is nice to see you," Perdy went on and she genuinely meant it. Things had gotten weird towards the end of their "thing" but hat was the good thing about living in the capital; it was too vast to run into any of her ex-paramours, at least not on a regular basis. And she felt good.

Charlie stared at Perdita after she said that—everything children put their parents through—preoccupied with the thought. He certainly had put his through the ringer, hadn’t he? Thank Christ they never saw even half of what was written about him.

The brunette accused him of only paying attention when he was trying to hit on her, and Charlie shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Do I have to try?” he smirked. If history was anything to go by, he could offer to go back to hers now and she’d leave her coffees here in a heartbeat.

Perdita sipped her drink and Charlie was reminded about his; he picked it up and had a sip of his own, lukewarm now. His eyes flicked up to meet hers when she ‘accepted’ his offer to sort her ex-boyfriend out. Charlie panicked for half a second before he recognised that she was playing along. “I’ll see what I can do,” he smiled wryly, feeling a twinge of genuine sympathy for her.

Perdita laughed and it took Charlie a moment to catch up — he hadn’t meant it like that, but it was easier to let her think so, he realised. His grin was reinforced, and he let out a light laugh of his own as her words replayed in his head. “You like it,” he told her confidently.

His eyes drifted over to the yummy mummies as their toddlers piped up again. Perdy spoke again, softer, and Charlie turned his head back to gaze at her, surprised by the sentiment. He wet his lips habitually. “Yeah,” he agreed, the you too remaining unspoken. His mind went back to an earlier thought—going back to her place—but even through the awkwardness of this interaction he could tell the dynamic had shifted. That ‘last shag’ at Christmastime was looking more and more like the real deal. It wasn’t Perdita’s fault, if it was anyone’s at all. Perhaps they had just run their course.

At a loss for where the conversation was supposed to go now, Charlie’s line of sight fell slowly to the table: to her files. A small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “So you’re observing the muggles, are you?” he smirked, flicking his eyes back up to hers.

"Touche," she smiled with a playful roll of her eyes. He knew it, she knew it. She was always going to be the same person and it didn't matter how many self help books she read or how many times she locked herself away, one fact was very clear - she had no willpower. At least Charlie had always been on a similar wavelength in their sense of humour and there was a second of mild panic where she thought he might have actually flirted but she was relieved to see they were both being adults about it.

 Her smile widened, an uncharacteristic grin making her cheeks dimple. Perdita felt a wash of guilt suddenly. She'd been bad mouthing him to her friends when actually, he was a decent man. She hadn't seen it at the time, what with her all-consuming crush and need for a lobotomy, but he was cool. Instead, she simply gave him a nod of acknowledgement that she hoped would encompass the fact that she really was fine and he didn't need to tip-toe around her. They'd known each other for too long now.

She let out a laugh which sounded more like a quick exhale through her nose before she met his eye. "That's why I keep getting myself into trouble," she joked half-heartedly. The need for Charlie to understand that she really was fine was overwhelming but she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard, lest it send the wrong message.  It was unlikely that they'd cross paths again in the city but on the occasion that they might, she wanted to be cool as a cucumber. She had to somehow prove it to him which was odd, considering she hadn't thought about him in months.

Sipping her coffee, Perdy nodded quickly. "I find them fascinating," she added with a dreamy sigh as she looked at the young mums. "They don't even know we exist," she continued. Well, that wasn't strictly true. There were muggleborns and squibs, wizards who married Muggles, that sort of thing but by and large, Muggles didn't have a clue. "They are cute," Perdita frowned as she tilted her head, wincing as little baby Penelope proceeded to launch a half eaten muffin at her mother's head.

She caught Charlie's smirk and she smiled back, opening the book and turning it so he could see inside if he wanted to. There were a number of outfit sketches, everything detailing from high waisted trousers and pussy-bow silk blouses to coat-dresses, skirts and well fitted blazers. "You know because not everyone wants to wear robes all day," she offered as she tugged at her left earring, a sign she was nervous to show anyone her book of ideas. 

Charlie offered Perdita a small, genuine smile — she wasn’t the only one constantly getting herself into trouble, and they both bloody well knew it.

She glanced down at her coffee and he kept looking at her for a moment afterwards; it wasn’t like he suddenly no longer found her attractive—she was still fit—and somewhere from the recesses of his subconscious he recalled her drunken confession, the one where she’d seemed on the verge of tears, where she’d admitted her desire for him to find her funny and whatever else — where she’d been angling for him to see her as girlfriend material, is what he’d taken it to mean. She seemed to have passed that fantasy now, at least. He’d be lying to himself if he tried to pretend he didn’t feel anything for the brunette, but it wasn’t enough, whatever it was. He almost felt bad about it—his ability to seemingly hook girls in with no intention of delivering—but then what sort of boyfriend material was he anyway? They were better off without him.

They don’t even know we exist. Charlie smiled wryly, keeping the muggleborn-pureblood politics to himself in some private attempt to make up for his thoughts from a moment prior. Perdita said they were cute and Charlie laughed. “Are they?” he asked, smirking — a silent but obvious do I count?

Perdita opened her book and Charlie flicked his gaze up to meet hers before glancing back down, his brandy-brown eyes scanning across the illustrations and notes. “I certainly bloody don’t,” he commented, unnecessarily. “Hated wearing them in school,” he added, bringing his attention back up to her face. He wet his lips and nodded down at her sketches, “Maybe next season everyone’ll be wearing little bows on their blouses,” he smirked, though not unkindly.

His attention fell to her coffees (her own and the one for her boss). “You need to deliver that?”

The heat from the coffee cup that she had her hands wrapped around was comforting. It kept her grounded. It was easy to fall back into old times with Charlie. Everything about him was easy. From his personality to how he styled his hair, the way he walked or how he called someone love so casually. He was enigmatic and electric. The perfect frontman and a fucking awful boyfriend. Perdita felt better. She'd quit smoking, so she could manage to quit shagging the wrong people. Even the ones with eyes that looked like pools of melted chocolate that she just wanted to drown in.

"Eh," came the soft response as she shrugged and sipped her coffee, a smile curving the line of her lips in jest. Flirting with Charlie had never been an issue but having a decent conversation was. Besides sex, that was about it. Even then, there hadn't been much talking involved.

"No one did," she agreed with Charlie's observation with a laugh, closing her book soon after. "At least you didn't get bollocked by a professor for shortening your skirt by two inches," she joked with a roll of her eyes. The brief spurt of teenage rebellion had no effect. All it had earned her was detention and the boy whose attention she'd been trying to get had then asked someone else to the Yule Ball. What a bastard.

Meeting his eye, she snorted. "Trust me, it'll happen," Perdita assured Charlie, tapping the side of her nose but she blinked. "Hm?" Oh, the coffee. She snapped back into reality. "Oh fuck," she swore softly, her bright eyes wide. Thankfully, Piper wasn't a raging bitch but Dita didn't want her to think she was skiving.

Slotting her silly little book back into her folder, she stood up, tucking her hair behind her ears as she drained her cup and tossed it with surprising accuracy into the bin across the coffee shop. There was a moment of silence. "She'll only be wondering where I've got to," she went on, knowing that was a lie.

Perdita took one last look at Charlie and tilted her head. She still liked him but not in the way she used to. They'd never be friends but that might also be fine. She could send him a Christmas card, keep things casual, perhaps see him around town, that sort of thing. She nodded at Charlie's notebook. "I look forward to hearing those," she went on with a smile that reached her eyes. Closure was lovely. Who would have thought she'd achieve it in a coffee shop on a quiet afternoon? "Are you coming?" She asked, just in case they were trying to make this new dynamic stick.