[maidstone] objects in space { phillip }

Phillip was still clinging to the things she had told him already tonight. That, someone, had kissed her, even though she had not wanted them to. The words faded in and out of his tired mind, hurt and worry swirling around. Little bits of anger peppering everything else he felt about it. And then there was the other thing. That she did not want to kiss anyone else, and there were so many things to think about that. 'Else' implied him, and he liked that but did not want to. And 'anyone else' reminded him she had already kissed someone else, and he was jealous about that, even if he should not be.

It was messy, and every thought was louder than the next, but his hand on her leg quieted everything. Like someone muted the world the second his fingers brushed her skin; he liked this shorter dress, he had decided just then. When he set his hand on her leg, Billie did not pull away or move at all for a moment, and Phillip said nothing. He had not thought she would move, but there was still some fear that she might. It was peaceful again, the two of them sitting silently as the cicadas sang to the moonlight.

Was it wrong that Phillip just wanted to sit here quietly and occupy the space next to her? Talking, sharing, forgiving, all of those things seemed like so much work, but this wasn't a challenge at all. Just being next to her in the darkness was comforting, and it didn't feel like he was doing something wrong. If a breakup was a battle, this felt like a momentary cease-fire, and Phillip could use the pause. It gave him time to think about things, time to wonder. Why had Billie messaged him and not one of her friends and told him so much tonight?

And why was she still wearing the necklace he'd given her?

Phillip had noticed it earlier, but with ample time to consider it, Phillip could not help but wonder what it meant. He'd expected she'd stop wearing it once they had broken up. He did not want to think that she might throw it away, but the wizard figured it would have been perfectly reasonable for her to tuck it away in a jewelry box somewhere and forget about it. And instead, Billie was still wearing it, and it was not the first time he'd seen her with it since they had broken up. The idea tugged at him, pulling at the frayed edges of feelings he didn't want to consider.  Phillip wasn't sure how it made him feel to see it on her, but he knew it hurt. He didn't know if he was supposed to be upset about it or not care at all, but he certainly wasn't going to let him feel any hope from seeing her still want to wear it. That would be confusing, and Phillip had enough to worry about already.

Billie's hand moved, and Phillip felt like he was watching it in slow motion. Hyper-aware of how close her hand was to his. Like binary stars orbiting around a barycenter, Phillip remembered the principles of the two-body problem. And he missed the days when they only interacted with each other, no outside forces, and he could ignore everything else.

She kept her eyes closed and tried to focus on both her breathing and the calmness that she felt in response to having him so close (as opposed to the tension and nerves she felt in response to the very same thing). A little time passed in silence, and Billie was glad he didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t the most important thing, it wasn’t the thing she missed most, but she did miss touching him. She’d taken it for granted, the way she could casually slip her hand into his, or tilt her chin up in a certain way during a hug and get a kiss on her lips or her forehead depending on the angle. They’d been so caught up in the summer they’d gotten together, so physically affectionate, and while that had been dialled right back while they were at school, they’d had another taste during so much of the Christmas break. She missed it. Missed him.

And she couldn’t stop thinking, now, about his hand on her knee. About him sitting here, looking after her. Caring about her. She was coming down from stress, from the feeling of being overwhelmed, of not being able to find her friends, but even though this all felt extremely fragile, even though she felt terrified to move in case it all fell into pieces, she hadn’t thought about much else for the past few months.

He at least didn’t-hate-her enough that he was here. That felt good.

Slowly, slowly, near-imperceptibly, Billie uncurled her hand a little more, brushed her pinky finger lightly against the side of his.

Billie had said she did not want to kiss anyone else, and Phillip knew he did not want her to, but he also knew that was not something he was allowed to think anymore. They were not together, but that didn’t mean everything he’d felt before had faded. It did not make a lot of sense, but also it made all the sense in the world. Phillip understood why he did not want her to kiss anyone else, and he was crystal clear on the fact that, if she did, he sure as hell did not want to hear about it.

Phillip assumed they were not on the same page about most things now. Not like they had been before. He was still mad at her for lying, but he assumed she thought he was angry about who her parents were. He’d gone over that conversation that night, so many times and from so many angles, and he was full of regrets. There were so many things he should have said or asked, and he shouldn’t have stopped until she’d given him real answers. It was frustrating how much Phillip still didn’t know about her; comparing it to everything he knew about Billie that he was sure no one else did was dizzying. 

All the things that came easy during their relationship were out of reach, but she was sitting so close. Some of the damage was irreparable, but Phillip saw the glimmer of some middle ground here and realized how badly he wanted it. He had missed just being close to her. His world felt so out of balance without Billie, and sitting next to her now, he finally felt like he was not falling endlessly and never hitting the ground. Her hands moved again, and Phillip froze. Like the breath had been knocked clear out of him, Phillip sucked in another and paused.

Her finger brushed against his, it was such a tiny movement, the smallest of connections, but it felt immeasurably important. Phillip felt his stomach in his throat, nerves, and anxiety swelling there, mixing with his loneliness and anger. He almost didn’t believe it was happening, and his heart raced at the idea of mirroring her movement. Of doing anything that might give away just how much he had missed her. For months he had missed her, and it felt like too much to bear now. The knot in his stomach twisted into something else, and Phillip felt too warm.

It was surreal to consider it, and he knew it was wrong, but all he wanted to do was kiss her. To forget everything else and lose himself the way they had all last summer. It was not realistic, but he wanted it anyway. And he would never do it, but he moved his hand closer to hers anyway.

His hand slid up her thigh — maybe a dozen millimetres, barely the width of her finger, but she could have sworn she felt each one of them individually. And their fingers were touching now — properly side-by-side touching. If she moved her hand, she was sure it would still be trembling, and wasn’t sure that it would still just be from clenching her fist too tightly, anymore.

Billie felt confused, disoriented from the emotional whiplash, and exhausted from how intense her anxiety had been earlier. She really felt drunk; she could sense her thoughts moving differently under the influence. Sluggishly. At this moment, the witch cared so much less about all kinds of things she would usually care about, like manners. Properness. Her mind felt a bit messy — and sad, and stressed, and disconnected from her surroundings — but, at least in this moment, in the quiet, his presence felt good.

Billie was grateful for the dark, and for her already-too-fast breathing, and her already-flushed-cheeks; she was nervous about him perceiving her every thought just by looking at her face, and nervous about what his reaction might be. Then again, she really had no idea how she looked, or what kinds of things her expression or her body language were saying nonverbally; a part of her felt sure that he could read her already.

And of course as soon as she thought that, her mind was flooded with all kinds of things that she really wouldn’t want him to see. She imagined his hand moving further up, imagined him leaning in, imagined his lips on her collarbone, where the edge of her cardigan had slipped just a little. It was all very cinematic, in her head; the wind blowing the grass in gentle waves, the thin crescent moon reflecting on the water. Billie imagined keeping her eyes closed while he kissed her neck, brushing the chain of her necklace aside before moving up to her lips. It seemed both absurd and awful that her mind could slide so easily down this path. She couldn’t tell if it was better or worse to be thinking it while in his presence instead of just on her own.

They were sitting close enough that their arms brushed; she could feel the rougher material of his jacket against her cardigan sleeve. She felt an urge, suddenly, to tell him that she missed him. An urge to say it in a very compelling way, so that he knew it was true. Billie moved her pinky finger, slow still, but less careful than before, over the top of his, curling slightly into the gap between his fingers. Her heart fluttered.

He should not have moved closer, but what he was supposed to do mattered less and less now. Phillip was smart enough to know that this road was only going to lead them to more confusion, and ultimately, more hurt, but he had missed her so much. It was almost impossible to quantify how much he had missed her. When they were together, Billie was like his sun, and when she was gone, it was not just her light that he longed for. Without her, it was like his gravity was gone too, as if he had been flung out into space, into the cold darkness, and there was no coming back.

It was hard to tell if the air around them had gotten colder or if Phillip was just warmer. His jacket felt too hot, too tightly wrapped around him. All of the new warmth radiated from his hand, the one pressed against her fingers, and Billie moved again. When he set his hand on her thigh, it had been an attempt to give her comfort. Her leg had been bouncing, and he could tell she was anxious and drunk, and he had wanted to help. But now that one movement had turned into so much more, and Phillip wanted it to be more, but it couldn’t be more, could it?

The feeling of Billie’s pinky moving over his and settling into space between was electric. It didn’t matter if it was an absolute sensation or just something his mind crafted in response to the contact; the feeling consumed Phillip. It had been months since he’d been close to her. Since they had kissed, or held hands, or even sat on the same side of a room together. The physical connection was overwhelming, even something as innocent as one finger sliding over his.

He was afraid to look at her, fearful that his eyes would give away how desperate he felt. And in the back of his mind, that voice that always had the worst ideas was pushing him forward. Egging him on, convincing him to give in, and he wanted to. Phillip was stone-cold sober when he’d apparated to Maidstone, but being this close to Billie was giving him a buzz. He couldn’t trust the tiny voice or himself, but if that was true, then why did it feel so right to sit next to her?

Billie’s hand moved, and Phillips responded without thought, his pinky wrapping around hers ever so slightly. His mind was hesitant to think about anything other than that physical connection. It was so slight but felt like the only real thing in the world. Merlin, he had missed her. “Billie,” He breathed; it was the first time he’d whispered her name like that in months. There was no accusation behind it, no hurt, only need, and he sucked in a breath. He shouldn’t have spoken, it would probably ruin the moment they were having, but it probably needed to be destroyed anyway. Before, one of them, or quite possibly both, did something they shouldn’t.

Phillip wished he could kiss her.

Her eyes were still closed, and it was making her feel a little dizzy. She thought it was better than the alternative, though; he could probably see exactly what she was thinking just by looking at her face, and she was too scared to try to do the same for him. Knowing what was on his mind right now was too scary; she just wanted to push this entire thing further, to stroke her fingers over the back of his hand, or up his arm. To lean in, closer. She still felt rattled from everything that had happened, rattled to even be here, alone with him, but her tenseness, her wired, anxious energy, only made her desire to follow the good feelings stronger. Her imagination was getting the best of her.

Billie.

“I miss you.”

The words spilled out quickly, before he had a chance to say anything else.

He took in a sharp breath just after he’d said it, like he was surprised the word had slipped from his lips. She was surprised, too. Surprised, but also nervous he was going to tell her to stop it, or say that it was time to drop her off or something. That was why she’d had to say something first, despite the way he’d said her name — tender, she thought, like he still wanted something from her. Like he still, well, loved her. Her eyes snapped open at that thought, but she was still too nervous to meet his gaze.

Her eyes flicked down instead, to his hand on her thigh. To her own hand intertwined with his, just so. “I miss you,” she breathed, “so much.” There were countless thoughts bubbling to the surface now. She never would have imagined that her night would go like this. That she’d end up sitting side by side with him, almost-holding-hands with him. It was excruciatingly clear to her that she still loved him deeply, and she only felt a moment away from saying as much; she wanted, suddenly, to say everything she'd been thinking.

I miss you.

Phillip took another breath, blinking at her words but unable to meet her eyes. As if she had read his mind, Billie had said something he had been too scared to tell. Or was it ashamed? He knew it was okay that he missed her, it was rational and expected, but it still felt like he should not. Phillip felt like it should have been easier to let her go after such a betrayal, but it was not. Despite everything that had happened, he just wanted to forgive her because he was lost without her. Like his mind was trying to reconcile everything and convince him it would be better to still have her, despite the lies than be alone.

I miss you.

Billie said again, but even if she hadn’t, the words would have been playing on repeat in his mind for the rest of forever. He felt more kinship toward that sentiment than her not wanting to kiss anyone else. Like this was the bridge they needed, like this would be what changed things, Phillip was still hesitant to respond. His hand squeezed her leg without thinking, gently, just the tiniest squeeze in the way of agreement. He wanted to tell her he missed her too, but where would that lead? Phillip was afraid to find out. Nervous and anxious and a little bit irritated to be in this position and feel so helpless and out of control. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her anymore or what he was willing to give, and it was torture.

Her skin felt cold under his warm hand, and that was something else to focus on for a second. Logistically, Phillip tried to reason out how he could take off his jacket and offer it to her without removing his hand from her thigh. Was it possible? He did not think so physically, but it was something else to focus on. Anything else, just for a second. And he needed that.

I miss you.

It played again in his head, pushing everything else to the side until his mouth felt so dry from words he wished he had said. He swallowed roughly, looking away so she would never see the wetness in his own eyes,  and nodded. “I miss you, too.” If the world was going to crumble around them, Phillip felt like this might be the moment when it happened. He felt like tonight had captured them, taken them to some other place, and the cicadas were the only keepers of time here. It would have been so easy to ignore the rest, just for a little while, and move closer to her. Silently, he moved his leg until it touched hers, close to their hands, and he stared at the willow tree across from them.

He squeezed her thigh and her heart mirrored the sensation, like his fingers had been under her ribcage instead of on her leg.

I miss you, too.

Ouch.

She felt a strong swell of unnameable emotions. Could one hate someone and miss them, too, she wondered? Billie was scared to let herself believe that he meant what he said, but utterly unwilling to undermine him, even in her own head. So there was only one way forward — she had to believe both things. Billie's emotions were fairly dramatic at the best of times, but everything took on a new urgency in this state.

He looked away, out towards the willow tree, the swaying leaves, and shifted just a touch closer. Their legs brushed and she shivered. After a moment of stillness and silence, she chanced a glance his way.

It hurt, a bit. It felt silly that it hurt just to look at him, but Billie was so far out of her usual self at the moment that she barely registered how ridiculous it was. She was a mess, and she’d done a lot of things tonight that warranted self-punishment, but she could (and would!) do that later. Currently, she found herself wrapped up in the most irrational sense of jealousy, aimed incredibly irrationally towards the stupid tree that ostensibly had all of his attention.

Merlin, it was a selfish feeling, but she just wanted him to say it again, and she wanted him to look at her when he did.

“I…” There were a million things on the tip of her tongue, and her self-control had dissolved long ago, into the alcohol and stress. After a tiny beat, the ideas began tumbling from her lips out of order, her sense of urgency ebbing and flowing as she spoke until she trailed a little at the end. “I miss telling you everything,” she admitted, “I just keep rereading our journals, I miss… Talking. I always look for you…” her gaze dropped to their hands again. She'd said almost exactly that the day they'd kissed for the first time. “Miss this. Miss touching you,” she admitted. She watched as she moved her hand, slow and tentative, sliding over the top of his so that she could curl three fingers into the gaps between his, instead of just the one.

Mirroring her words, Phillip wondered if it was what Billie had wanted to hear. The idea that she had said it first, hoping to hear him say it back, left him with conflicting thoughts. Billie was not manipulative, but Phillip was not an optimist either. In the end, it did not matter because he had missed her, and saying it out loud was a relief. His shoulders slunk a little like he had stopped holding up a little bit of the weight that had been pressing down on them.

The quiet swept over them once more, and it reminded Phillip of how serene it had always felt to be near her. Holding her hand, or his arms around her, or just walking next to her in the hall. Billie quieted everything else; Billie brought him peace. When she spoke again, Phillip blinked a few times and started to turn his head to look at her but stopped himself. The half start, half movement, was awkward, and he sighed as his green eyes landed on the grass instead of her face.

Billie’s words felt like echoes of his own heart, every thought was so relatable, and it hurt worse the more she went on. Phillip had worn the binding of their linked journals out in the weeks following the breakup. He had read, and reread, and reread again, every-single-message. Strangely, it was the basic ones that were the most painful to read. The good mornings and goodnights, checking in, setting up when they were going to meet in between lessons, all the little day-to-day things he was suddenly without.

As she continued, his heart seemed to speed up in time with her thoughts, like a contagious urgency. He felt it, his heart thumping in his chest, that warmth rising in his ears, the pit in his stomach. Phillip missed everything about her, and he was desperate for her to know it. Phillip sat up slightly, head-turning toward her just enough that it would have been easy to kiss her. That voice in the back of his mind was in control now. He wanted to feel her lips on his and lose himself. To let everything else be an afterthought. To find that peace he had been missing.

But Billie turned away.

Following her eyes, Phillip watched as Billie’s fingers looped into his. Her tiny hand was dwarfed by his own. Her movement sent little jolts of electricity up his arm, goosebumps of nervous energy that collected in his shoulders. He had been about to kiss her, and that would have been the absolute best mistake he’d made all night. “Yeah,” he said, his words chased by another sigh. Why did this have to be so complicated?

Yeah, he said. Her eyes were still on their hands, and she couldn’t tell if he said the word as if it were a full stop or if it could be interpreted as permission to continue. He didn’t stop her, though, so she kept going, her words flowing more easily the more of them she allowed passage through her lips. Billie wasn’t a very good gatekeeper tonight; she wasn’t being careful with what she said. She’d regret it tomorrow, but tonight it felt good to just say every thought as it cropped into her head and — regardless of all of that — he missed her too.

He missed her.

Her eyes were fixed on their hands. “I don’t want to hold anyone else’s hand,” she said, the words slipping out as soon as the thought had formed. Her voice took on a pleading tone again as she willed him to believe that she meant it. She didn’t know why she was saying it; she didn’t have any sort of goal here, just a compulsion to get it all out of herself and into the air between them. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they’d barely had anything resembling a normal conversation for so many months, after he’d had fairly constant access to her thoughts for so years prior to that. She'd had a place to talk about any little irrelevant thing, and now she didn't. She felt the difference.

Billie was a lot less anxious now, but she was still emotional. Still drunk-emotional. Her opposite knee, the one without his hand on it, started bouncing nervously.

“I don’t want to kiss — can’t imagine — I just, I can’t believe you thought I’d be seeing someone else the month after we broke up,” she said. That hadn’t been where her sentence had been going, but her thoughts were incredibly scattered at the moment, different ideas forming and unforming before she could make sense of them. Billie inhaled a sharp breath, then gave his hand a squeeze, either to reassure him, or steady herself; it was impossible to tell. She tried hard not to think of anything untoward — not the distance between their interlaced hands and the hem of her dress, not the way his fingertips felt pressing into her thigh as they were, not the fact that the position of their hands meant that she could easily shift his, lead him, if she tried to.

She squeezed her eyes shut again for a moment. “I just miss you, all the time.” She felt a tightness in her chest again, but it wasn’t like before. Her eyes opened and she looked at him then, eyebrows furrowed.

Phillip could tell how drunk Billie was by the over-abundance of honesty spilling out of her. Before the breakup, he had never worried about whether or not she was truthful, but she had always been reserved when it came to talking about herself. Billie always seemed more interested in his feelings, his thoughts, than her own. Even when he asked questions, she rarely gave him complete answers. It was almost unbelievable to think this beautiful, oversharing, drunk girl sitting next to him was the same Billie he knew. Honest, unreserved, and lead by her thoughts, it was difficult for Phillip not to gravitate toward her.

It was refreshing to know what she was thinking the moment that she felt it. Silently, he watched as her eyes fell to their hands, and then she spoke about them, and Phillip nodded. Her thoughts seemed jumbled, sentences fragmented, but he kept up quickly enough. She mentioned their conversation many nights ago in the Common Room, and Phillip remembered her confession about Horus Heyward. He'd hated to admit it, hated to think it even more, but the wizard had assumed she'd be dating Killian before the snow had melted, but Billie had surprised him by mentioning the Ravenclaw instead. Either way, he was happy she wasn't dating anyone (though, honestly, he was a little extra relieved that she wasn't with the Gryffindor Prefect).

Hearing her continue, Phillip found comfort in her words. Billie didn't want to date anyone else, or kiss, or hold hands, and all Phillip heard was that she didn't want anyone else, and he loved to listen to her say it. It was wrong, but he wanted to know that she was miserable without him. Just as sad as he was without her. He was desperate to believe that this breakup had been painful for her, too, even though he chastised himself for thinking it. He didn't want to hurt her, but it was like some solidarity, just another complicated mess to be confused about.

For months Phillip had been trying to convince himself that Billie was a liar. To believe that everything they had was built on a lie, so it wasn't real, and he had to let it go. So far, he had made precisely zero progress in the fight, and tonight was a sharp reminder of that. Even now, sitting across from some drunk version of Billie who had just admitted to kissing a stranger, he could not shelf his feelings. He couldn't lock them away and pretend to be someone else; Phillip wasn't good at compartmentalization. He lacked the capacity. And instead, his anger, jealousy, love, and longing blended like a mess of paint dripping off of a canvas.

Phillip felt the same way she did; every single word she'd spoken rang true, but how could he tell her that and not betray himself at the same time? Their relationship was broken, and everything was wrong now, but all he wanted to do was kiss her and agree with everything she had told him. Most especially the first part. When she turned to look at him, another warm wave washed over him, like gravity trying to push him toward her, but Phillip was still. His green eyes met hers, and without considering it, his thumb idly brushed the outside of her thigh—the sort of movement that would have been commonplace four months ago but seemed so scandalous now.

I just miss you, all the time.

She finished speaking and just looked at him, her brow furrowed with concern as she waited. Waited for him to say something, or do something, or something. She felt like a tightly coiled spring, and was a little worried that she’d start nervously babbling over the top of him again as soon as he tried to speak. She was glad he’d let her talk, but scared of what he might say next.

He was very still, so she stopped bouncing her knee and went still, too. She didn’t have the patience or self restraint not to start speaking her mind again soon, and while it was wildly liberating, she wasn’t sure it was for the best. Her gaze flickered in the direction of her knee when his thumb moved, just a little, but settled back on his face. The movement was too gentle to have been just a twitch, she thought, but what was he thinking? She had butterflies.

Billie wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You’re not… Saying anything,” she said unnecessarily, as if she were the narrator of a paused moment rather than a participant in a two-sided conversation. Her gaze flicked between his eyes, like she could look right in and find whatever it was she was seeking in there, if only she tried hard enough. Maybe the conversation wasn’t entirely two-sided right now, but she certainly felt like she wasn’t the only one searching for something.

“Because… You hate me?” she guessed, her words hesitant. Billie wasn’t even sure what she wanted from him; she’d spent months accepting over and over that he didn’t want her, couldn’t stand her, didn’t want to be with her. Didn’t care. Et cetera. But if all of that was true, then why was he looking at her like that? Why was he touching her, letting her say everything she was saying?

“No,” she said, closing her eyes. “That isn’t it, it’s just — I mean, maybe you do!” she added quickly, not wanting him to feel like she was speaking for him. “But it’s not that, it’s just… I’m saying so much and you feel like —” she opened her eyes, then frowned. “— Or maybe I shouldn’t guess? But guessing is all I’ve been doing…” Billie took a deep breath, and exhaled, trying to get her brain right. She was oversharing enough that she noticed it, which was far more than she'd like.  His hand was still there, on her thigh. His face still so close to hers, his leg touching hers, just so.

She noticed, for the first time tonight, that his knuckles were a little cut up. It alarmed her; a troubled frown appeared on her face. She shifted her hand a little, leaving enough space that she could brush one of the raised, half-healed wounds ever so lightly with her thumb. "Does... Does this hurt?" she asked softly, looking back at him.

Phillip could not let himself think about the things she was saying, it was too risky, and he knew he could not be trusted. The teenager knew if he opened the door and let the thoughts in, even for a moment, more and more would come rushing in. He already felt crushed under the weight of his own what-ifs, and now Billie was adding more rocks to the pile. Phillip’s hand on her thigh was supposed to be steadying, but it did the opposite for him. The door opened, little by little, with everything she said until her words consumed Phillip. She spoke about missing him and so much more, and Phillip sighed silently.

“You’re not… Saying anything,” Phillip’s eyes moved from the grass back to Billie, but he didn’t answer her. What was he supposed to say? What did she want him to say? That everything was fine, and they were good? It was not, and they were not, but Phillip did not want to leave either, so he said nothing, and she continued. Almost as if his side of this conversation did not matter right now, Phillip just waited as she worked through her drunken thoughts out loud. It was a glimpse into the way her mind worked, and it was so unlike her to just let thoughts slip out without careful consideration. Phillip watched the way she moved as she spoke, hanging on to each word like it might be the last one she said to him. Phillip did not hate her, but sometimes he wished that he could. It would have been easier.

Breathing silently, Phillip listened and waited. There was no point in convincing her that he did not hate her because Phillip was not ready to forgive her. And as much as he disliked her deciding his feelings for him, Phillip did not protest when she had done it. If only there had been less guessing and more honesty months ago, they might not have ended up here, he thought but did not say. His thoughts felt muddy and confusing, even compared to the drunken stream of consciousness Billie offered, and Phillip clenched his jaw to keep from saying something needlessly rude. He still felt like they never finished the conversation on New Year’s, that he hadn’t said everything he wanted to, and that she hadn’t answered any of his questions, and it was like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

Billie’s attention turned away from his feelings to his hand, and Phillip preferred that right now. The idea of explaining how he felt was unsurmountable; it was too much to think about all at once. “No, not really,” Phillip spoke for the first time in minutes, answering her question about the cuts on his hands but offering no further explanation. It wasn’t the first time he’d hit a wall instead of trying to understand something, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. It also wasn’t the first time she’d seen his hands cut up like this, but it had been quite a long time. “They’ll heal,” He offered, even though she hadn’t asked, and Phillip watched her thumb move over his hand.

Billie looked back down at their hands, finding herself obsessed with the way they looked together. The way they fit. The way it felt, to touch him again, after months of trying hard not to imagine it. Billie was good at controlling her thoughts, for the most part. It was really just in those moments where she was saddest or very tired that Phillip and his hands — their hands, laced together — appeared in her mind like this.

Though, his knuckles were never cut up in her imaginings.

“I hope not,” she mumbled, when he said it didn’t hurt. She doubted he’d tell her it did, even if that was true. Phillip didn’t like to come off as weak, she thought; he was stubborn, prideful. She loved it. It felt like yet another Gryffindory part of him, if she was doing a little house-reduction... The thought reminded her of the conversation she’d had with Killian right at the start of the night, when they’d clinked the necks of their bottles together and shared their first drinks. Beer, of all things! She wondered what Phillip would think of it. He’d hate it, probably.

They’ll heal. It sounded like a promise, and she almost said so.

She nodded, just a little. “I feel like everything I think wants to come out of my mouth,” she told him, eyes still on their hands. She stilled again, stopping herself from running her thumb over his little wounds. It probably didn’t feel as nice for him, she thought, chastising herself. Had he punched a wall or another person? She’d never seen him hit anything, but remembered how they’d first met; it wasn’t out of the question that he’d pick a fight. She wondered how much she had to do with it, either way.

“You’re being so nice,” Billie breathed, a little rueful this time, breaking the tension as she leaned into him. She rested her head on his shoulder with another heavy sigh. Nice wasn’t the right word — he'd barely spoken in the past ten minutes — but he was still right here, right in front of her, even though she was probably being ridiculous. And he’d come to get her when she needed him. And there was the rest of it too, of course; he still felt like home to her, even if he’d have wished she felt a different way.

She shut her eyes again, and leaned into him, unabashed. She’d lost any semblance of self control whenever shot three or four had kicked in. She shifted, nuzzled a bit until her forehead rested in the curve between his neck and shoulder. He had to move his arm to accommodate her, but he did so without complaint. Why was he letting her get so close? Billie didn’t linger on the question. She shivered, feeling the strangest kind of cold-but-not. “Why can’t I stop talking,” she mumbled, eyes still closed. She liked being here; head tucked in, arms curled up in between them, she fit exactly where she always used to.

Phillip shrugged a little; even talking about something unrelated with her was a strain now. More complex and so different, and Phillip sighed as he remembered a time when he could have told her anything. The teenager loathed long conversations, small talk, explanations, and everything in between. The less he could say, the better, but with Billie, he never had to force himself to speak. It was natural, easier around her, and he certainly had never hated it. She understood things without him having to go into detail, and she genuinely seemed to care, but more than that, Phillip had wanted to share things with her in a way he’d never wanted to before. All of that was ruined now, too, it seemed.

She spoke again, and Phillip fought back against the negative thoughts that surrounded him. Sitting here, picking apart everything he might say until he said absolutely nothing was frustrating. And Billie’s straightforward and unabashed confessions irritated him more, even when they shouldn’t have. She was honest, and that was what he wanted, so why did it bother him so much now? She ran her thumb over the cuts on his knuckles, it stung, and Phillip understood. It had been months since they broke up, and the wounds were not fresh, but they were still there. Phillip did not trust her anymore, so even as she told him things she might not have if she were sober, they were hard to hear. Billie’s newfound honesty stung more than her fingers pressed into his knuckles.

How should I be? Phillip thought to ask, his inner voice louder than anything he’d spoken. Billie thought he was nice, but Phillip didn’t understand why. He’d come for her, but because she had needed him to, not because he’d been excited to. And he’d brought her here because she had asked him to; it wasn’t his idea. And now, he was sitting with her, helping her calm down, but she was doing all of the talking. It didn’t sound very nice of him, but maybe space to say what was on her mind was the thing Billie needed the most right now. Perhaps Phillip could offer her that because despite the number of things he wanted to say, Phillip couldn’t find his voice.

When Billie moved, Phillip shifted too, naturally and instinctively, like his body knew what to do even if his mind wasn’t thinking clearly. His arm wrapped around her back, and she settled against him in the same way she had done so many times. Phillip tensed at realizing how close she was, her forehead up against his neck, and then relaxed. Uncomfortably comfortable, the teenager squeezed her slightly when she shivered—mentally kicking himself for not offering his jacket when he’d thought of it before. Phillip didn’t know what to say or how to process what they were doing now, nothing had changed, and everything had changed, but he could sit here like this for now. He could just let this happen, not stop it, not overthink it, just sit close to her because he’d missed her.

“Because you're drunk,” He said, minutes upon minutes of silence finally broken, and Phillip sighed. All of this was because she was drunk, nothing else. Not that he needed the reminder.