[plymouth] when it all falls down

It was late and Marin’s house, right outside of Plymouth, was quiet except for the symphony of chirping crickets outside and the distant whisper of waves on the coast. Winifred, sitting at her best friend’s kitchen table across from Mrs. Clare, was retelling each and every important moment (they were all important) of the 3Spelled concert that they had just gotten back from. This was a much calmer Wini, of course, because she had been chattering on and on until Mrs. Clare had put her hands on her cheeks and said, "Wini darling, I love your enthusiasm but we're only an hour away from midnight and I'm going to need you to take a deep breath and be a little calmer for me. Tea?"

Wini had smiled sheepishly and apologized, but had taken a deep breath as instructed and Mrs. Clare was still listening kindly, her dark red hair in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, paint splattered on her fingers as she had stayed up late painting, nodding and making little sounds of interest, looking the very picture of calmness. No wonder where Marin had gotten it from.

She was just about to go into the most important part of the whole concert, the one part that she kept telling Mrs. Clare she just had to hear about when a familiar skulking figure came in from outside and Wini turned to look. Her expression changed immediately. Her brows furrowed, set low against her brown eyes, as she watched Lip come in. “And where have you been?” she said sharply, a drastic difference to the way she usually greeted people and especially different from the way she usually greeted one of her supposed best friends. Not that he cared to act like a friend these days.

“Or do you not care that Mrs. Clare has been up worrying about you?” She wasn't sure if that was necessarily true, but there was a possibility that it was! Mrs Clare has been kind enough to say yes to harboring this broody teen and he was staying here with Marin instead of with Wini at William's. And no, she didn’t care one bit that he hadn’t even told her he was thinking of staying somewhere else, thank you very much.

She sniffed and then took a sip from her tea as she glanced at Mrs Clare and gave her a bit of an eye roll that commiserated over the inconsiderateness of the opposite sex.

*Credit to Vee for the Mrs. Clare dialogue

Marin was pretty happy, all things considered. The concert hadn’t been awful, and he was safely at home now, drinking tea in the kitchen with two of his favourite people. Both of them seemed to be in good moods, too. Lip being missing was mildly alarming, but only very mildly; they were all, technically, adults, after all. Other than that, there wasn’t a lot to be stressed about right here, in this very moment. Wini had banned him from complaining about NEWTs, after all (though she couldn’t stop talking about how soon graduation was, which felt like the same conversational topic to him).

Marin sipped his tea from the top of the counter, where he was sitting while he listened to Wini recount, in painstaking detail, everything that had happened only a couple of hours ago. He was already nearly a foot taller than them both and felt especially giant up here, but it was his favourite spot in the kitchen. His Mum gave him a small smile before returning her attention to Winifred. She’d taken him aside earlier and told him that Wini was welcome to stay the night, but that she, or they — Lip included, if they were all bunking together — would have to sleep in her studio, a short walk down the hill. Something about ‘Wini’s energy’ being ‘four hundred notches too high to wake up under the same roof’, or whatever. Marin had nodded, of course. He understood completely, and Wini liked sleeping in the studio anyway.

Marin blinked when Lip appeared. He raised his eyebrows at the back of Winifred’s head, quite surprised when she came in so harshly when their yearmate had barely had time to close the door behind him.

“Holly's fine, dear,” his mother said distractedly, pushing her glasses up her nose with the back of one paint-stained knuckle, her eyes on the newest arrival. She got to her feet. “And don’t fuss, children, I’m going to bed now — I’ll see you all in the morning.” She reached up to touch Marin’s shoulder affectionately before making her way out. As she passed Phillip, she hesitated, then touched his arm lightly. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back, dear, so I hung out your washing,” she told him with a small, sad smile. “Fresh towels on the hallway shelf, too.” She patted his arm once, then moved past him.

A beat later, his mother's voice carried from down the hall: "Studio!" she reminded them.

"Yep! Goodnight Mum," Marin answered, blue eyes flicking from Wini to Lip.

Tonight had been exhausting. Phillip had about a thousand other adjectives that might work— confusing, exciting, irritating, to name a few— but exhausting fit the best. From rushing to find Billie, apparating twice in as many minutes, making out with his ex-girlfriend, arguing with her best friend, and then apparating again, Phillip was beyond tired. He felt like he needed a shower; he hated how his skin felt from the long dewy grass and the hem of his trousers being damp. But Phillip also knew he'd be lucky if he bothered to take off his shoes before he fell into bed. That was his hope, no thinking, no imagining, no questions, just bed, and sleep. Sleep, if he was lucky.

"And where have you been?" Phillip groaned loudly, dramatically even, and rolled his eyes at Winifred's question. Usually, he might have had the presence of mind to hold at least half of his negative energy back, but tonight he was all out of filters. Tonight had pressed every one of his nerves, and Phillip was done. Taking an irritated breath, Phillip moved further toward them in the kitchen, which was unfortunately halfway between the front door and Phillip's borrowed bed. Winifred said more, but Marin's mum spoke before he had a chance to, not that Phillip had come up with a response anyway.

Tonight had been a lot of other people talking, and Phillip was tired of listening. He'd listened to Billie when she told him more than he thought it was fair for her to share. Knowing how she had missed him, and remembering how amazing it felt to kiss her, had made things worse. Killian's opinions were painful to hear, even though he'd tried to ignore them, but little bits kept creeping back in. Why him? Killian had asked, and Phillip couldn't get the look out of his head or the sound of Billie's voice when she'd answered. It was a nightmare. Phillip didn't want to listen to anyone else tonight; he didn't want to know how the concert went, or that Winifred was sleeping in the studio, or that Holly had been worried about him (he didn't think that last part was true, anyway).

For once, Phillip wanted to talk.

He needed to tell someone about what had happened, he needed help to process it, he needed his best friends. But Winifred was pissed at him, and he didn't know why, and Phillip was alone again.

Once Holly had left them, Phillip stopped halfway in the kitchen, Marin at the counter across from him and Winifred at the table, and shrugged. "What do you care?" He asked; instead of saying something about Billie or telling her he was sorry for whatever he did, or hell, even trying to find out what he had done to make her angry with him in the first place, Phillip did what he always did, and pushed back.

Phillip's reaction to her question, a loud, dramatic groan, set her immediately on edge. Plus the fact that it seemed like he was going to trudge in with his dark little raincloud over his head and not even give a greeting or an explanation. And as much as she loved Mrs. Clare, she frowned a little at the lack of backup she provided when she disputed Wini's claim. The blonde pursed her lips in a stubborn expression, but nodded in deference to Marin's mum. "Good night, Mrs. Clare," she said brightly while somehow simultaneously giving a glare to Phillip who was halfway across the kitchen.

His question made her brows fly up and she blinked at him a few times as she pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Actually, I don't care, Phillip," she replied immediately, an edge to her voice, his full name sounding weird to her as she used it so rarely, but the nickname she often used seemed to friendly now especially considering he wasn't even considerate enough to give her a heads up about anything.

"I just think it's rude of you to come and go as you please, without letting anyone know where you'll be considering you're their guest and people might worry, but you don't care what people think, do you?" she added as she stood up from her chair, grimacing as it scraped back with a glance in the direction Mrs. Clare disappeared in. And even though she was mad and wanted to make a dramatic exit just for emphasis, she still gently pushed the chair in and snatched her overnight bag by the door before she glanced at Marin. "Studio?" she asked him, completely ignoring Phillip, who clearly didn't care about anyone anymore, as she sailed out the door, pausing only to make sure the screen door didn't slam shut behind her.

“Hey Lip,” Marin said, uncertainty in his eyes as they flicked up from the back of Wini’s head to meet his gaze.

Tension.

He wasn’t so good at understanding that sort of thing, and his expression didn’t change at all now, because he wasn’t very good at reacting to that sort of thing either, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. Winifred was sharp, snippy, and used Phillip’s full name. “Winifred,” Marin said quietly, his one-word sentence carrying both curiosity and uncertainty in it.

He loved Winifred, really. He cared about her a lot. And no one could argue that he knew anything more about people than she did; he could be socially awkward, bumbling, miss signals or, more likely, pick up on them and then react completely inappropriately (and be fully aware he was doing it, just unable to stop himself). But sometimes, he didn’t think she paid attention to things the way that he did.

Wini was looking at him now, expectation written all over her expression and all through her tone. Should he just acquiesce and go with her? Or suggest that she and Phillip talk, or something? “Er.” Marin blinked, glanced down at the half-finished tea still in his hands, then back at the blonde who was still so tiny, even standing as she was.

“Mum wants us in the studio,” Marin said, over Wini’s head, to Lip this time. He slid awkwardly down from the counter, his limbs a little too long to do it in a single, graceful movement. “Especially if we’re gonna, uh, talk,” he added, glancing at the door Winifred had just swanned through. “So… We should probably do that,” he finished. Marin moved over to the door, sliding his socked feet into a pair of outdoor slippers left there for this purpose. He hoped Lip would follow, and that he and Winifred would work it out. Whatever it was.

Marin paused, one hand on the handle. A few weeks ago he wouldn’t have said anything — it wasn’t like he and Lip were really that close. It wasn’t as if Marin was very good at being a sympathetic friend in general. But they’d had dinner with his mum and spent quiet nights playing chess and a few days ago the boys had gone down to the beach together and walked along it. Hadn’t talked about much, really. Just complained a bit about NEWTs and stuff. But still.

“Did something happen?” he asked quietly, a slight frown as he stepped through the door, holding it open while he waited for their Ravenclaw friend to follow.

It took everything in his power to respect the quiet of Marin's house and the wishes of the Hufflepuff's mum who'd let him stay here over break, or Phillip might have just snapped from the way that Winifred said his name. She never used his full name; it was always Lip or 'grumpy' or something along those lines, never Phillip. Only Billie called him Phillip, and he didn't like how his name sounded coming from Winifred, especially not when she was scowling at him like that.

"Fine, let's go," Phillip said as if they had left it up to him, but neither one had asked if he wanted to go to the studio; it was already decided. It didn't matter what he wanted; Phillip felt like that was always the case. The Ravenclaw followed the two of them out of the house, stomping as quietly as possible until he stopped by the door. Pausing briefly, Phillip sighed at Marin's question and shook his head, then looked away, then nodded, and exhaled louder. "Yeah, you could say that..." He offered, clenching his jaw as he fought the need to avoid questions and the unusual want to talk about something. The inner turmoil was frustrating.

Winifred kept walking, so Phillip sped up to meet her because arguing with Winifred was a lot easier than the possibility of confiding in someone. Whatever it was that had kept Phillip from saying all of the things he'd wanted to earlier with Killian and Billie was gone now. His patience spent, filter worn thin, and unfortunately, he turned all of the rawness he felt toward Winifred, his closest friend.

"What is your problem, Winifred?" He snapped at her, catching up so that he matched her pace and staring. "And don't say your mad that I didn't tell Marin's mum where I was going." Phillip was angry, exhausted, and hurt, but he was still intelligent enough to know that reason was bullshit.

She heard Marin's quiet reproach, but she avoided looking in his direction, not wanting to see the full effect of his expression. He didn't completely understand. He was the one Phillip had picked, without even a heads up or an apology. Looking back, she had been mad at him too when she first found out, but it only took her a day or so to decide it wasn't really his fault.

Now she directed all of her anger and unhappiness at her Ravenclaw 'friend' who had caught up with her much quicker than she had thought he would. Wini glanced over at him, crossing her arms in front of her as she walked down the gravel path, quickening her pace to stay a step or two ahead of him. "Nothing, I don't have a problem, Phillip," she said, mimicking the way he used her full name, her tone wavering as this level of conflict didn't come easily to her. But she didn't feel like forgiving him again for being so inconsiderate for what felt like the millionth time.

"And it's common courtesy to let people know where you're going so they don't worry about you," she said as she half-turned to him and said over her shoulder as she kept going toward the studio. "But you do whatever you want, whenever you want, just like usual," she added, muttering, the light breeze blowing her hair over her shoulder as she gripped the handle to the studio door and pulled it open, going against her habit and not holding it open to him. She did glance beyond him to make sure Marin was coming too though.

“Oh… Right,” Marin said to Lip. He nodded once in solidarity or something as the pair left the house, thinking that… No, he wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, was he? What did one do once one knew “something” had happened? What was there to do? His eyes lingered on Lip for a moment, but then he looked ahead with another nod, not knowing what questions were the right ones. He sighed quietly to himself, deciding not to try ask any at all.

There was a moment of quiet, just the sound of the ocean in the distance and their own footsteps on the grass underfoot. The Hufflepuff glanced over disapprovingly as Lip’s walking pace sped up and he quickly caught up to their shorter friend. Marin said nothing again, just sighing quietly to himself as he lengthened his stride to overtake the pair of them. He was the tallest by several inches; it was easy to outpace them.

The studio was less than a minute’s walk down the hill; the buildings were within sight of one another, though visibility was low after sundown. He lit his wand wordlessly as he reached for the door handle. Once inside, the teenager slid his shoes off to the side of the mat. He left the door open behind him. “Shoes,” he reminded quietly as the others caught up.

Marin flicked his wand at the little jar lanterns strung across the ceiling, dousing his wandlight when they lit the room with a gentle glow. He moved a damp canvas aside carefully so they could all have easier access to the loft’s ladder. Marin pulled himself up easily, finally taking a seat on the floor mattress tucked into the corner of the loft area. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, waiting.

 Phillip hated when people called him by his full name, except for one person, and primarily when used as a weapon. He heard the tone in her voice, and it didn't matter that he had provoked it; it still grated him. Winifred always called him Lip, and he noticed. "Common courtesy?" He asked, his head pulling back away from her as he demonstrated how ridiculous he found that coming from her. They reached the studio, and Phillip followed Marin and Winifred into the building quickly. He stepped out of his shoes hastily, using his toes to pull the backs of the shoes down, and then kicked them to the side as he moved to catch up to Winifred again.

"You want to lecture me about common courtesy?" Phillip might have laughed dramatically if that was the sort of thing he did, but instead, he just narrowed his gaze on her. Winifred was the nosiest person he had ever met. She asked endless questions, never listened when he asked her to leave things alone, Merlin, she had even accosted Billie in the girl's lavatory, and now she was acting high and mighty about common courtesy? Most days, Phillip might have had a little more patience or a little less need to argue with her, but tonight, he was raring and ready to go.

Following them up the ladder, Phillip paced in front of the mattress that Marin had sunk into. "I'm an adult, I don't have to tell you where I am or what I'm doing, and I'm pretty sure Mrs. Clare does not care." Maybe that was wrong, she seemed like a nice enough witch, but also, Phillip wasn't her kid, so why would she care? Phillip stopped pacing, staring at Winifred for a second, before he picked it back up again, his tattered socks running tracks on the wooden floor of the loft.

Marin and his long legs easily took over the lead and she knew even if she speedwalked, he would still make it to the studio first. Wini didn't mind as long as it wasn't Lip. Phillip. Whatever.

She had taken two steps inside before Marin's quiet reminder had her turning back round and toeing off her white canvas sneakers, following Marin in her light pink socks to the loft ladder before climbing up after him. She almost hoped Lip-- Phillip --wouldn't join them. Instead, he flung a question at her as she was halfway up and she turned halfway to look at him with a haughty expression. "Yeah, common courtesy. Maybe look it up in the dictionary since it doesn't seem like something you're familiar with," she told him with her best attempt at Marin's deadpan sarcasm before she scrambled up the rest of the ladder.

Wini folded herself up, hugging her knees to her chest, right next to Marin on the mattress, sitting close enough that their legs brushed. She drew strength from his nearness, especially since Phillip seemed to be raring for a fight. Well, fine. Good. Wini had been holding back for a while now and it annoyed her that he thought everything was just ok, that it was perfectly fine to be a jerk to her and not even notice.

"No, of course not, why would you tell your friend anything," she said, still going for sarcasm even though it didn't come naturally to her. "And besides, just because you think someone doesn't care, doesn't mean that's the truth." Wini crossed her arms in front of her and piled them on her knees as she glared at him, thinking mostly of the way that she had gotten his room at William's all ready for break and he hadn't even had the decency to tell her that he wasn't coming. Or that he hadn't said anything at all about it. She felt her stomach twist and refused (refused!) to think that he didn't like or didn't want to stay with her because that would make her feel sad and all she wanted to be was angry at him in this moment.

Her eyes felt like they were going crossed with all the pacing he was doing and finally she tacked on, "And stop that, it's annoying," she said about his pacing. "What's gotten in to you?"

The loft was a little chilly, and for a moment, the teenager considered summoning one of the blankets folded neatly on a low shelf by the wall. He had his wand in hand, but didn't follow through as Wini took a seat beside him. Instead, he let his gaze wander over to Lip, who'd just climbed the ladder and seemed to have trouble sitting down. The pacing was sort of annoying, he thought, feeling a little distaste bubble up self-protectively. Back and forth, back and forth…

“So…” he started, but Wini’s what’s gotten into you cut his one-word attempt at contributing off, so he fell quiet, glancing from Wini to Lip as he waited for his other friend to answer. Marin didn’t like feeling like there was a lot going on under the surface between the three of them, ready to boil over at any moment. Marin didn’t like not knowing what questions to ask, or who to direct them towards. If Wini wasn’t here, he and Lip would likely just sit in silence, and if Lip hadn’t come back, he could have just sat in silence while his housemate chatted about nothing-too-important. Neither option felt anywhere near this tense. He stayed quiet.

Phillip hated talking and generally disliked those who spoke too much, but Winifred had always been the exception to the rule. The teenage witch said more than Marin and Phillip combined, but somehow it had never been that big of a deal before. Phillip had never minded sitting with them and listening to Winifred; he appreciated that there was typically very little pressure for him to contribute to the conversation. Phillip didn’t like when things were expected of him, and he didn’t like that Winifred expected things now. Something had irrevocably changed between them, the dynamic had shifted, and Phillip was uncomfortable with it.

Winifred wanted answers, and Phillip had refused to give them. And even though there was a tiny, logical sliver in his mind that understood her need for answers came from a good place, he hated that she wouldn’t let it go. He’d tried to explain that he couldn’t tell her details, but Phillip had done a poor job and made things worse. It was part of the reason he’d asked to stay with Marin this holiday instead of back in London with William and Winifred. Phillip couldn’t handle the pressure of being outside of school with Winifred, and he knew she’d keep trying to crack him.

The idea that she not only expected him to spill his biggest secrets but also divulge every tedious detail of his everyday life with her was too much, now, though, and Phillip didn’t feel like being quiet anymore. It didn’t matter if she was right or that he’d been an awful friend for months (or years). Phillip was too stubborn to see it. Phillip stopped dead in his tracks for a second and then shook his head at her. He wanted to turn her question around, but Phillip stopped himself. Winifred was still the same person; she hadn’t changed. She was curious, caring, and a little bit bossy. Phillip was the variable; Phillip had gone from being painfully honest to hiding things from his friends. Instead of answering, the teenager started pacing again, blatantly ignoring Winifred’s request.

A current of thoughts flooded Phillip’s mind, and he had trouble sorting through them. So many things were wrong, but he wasn’t willing to explain any of them. For someone who wanted to be left alone, Phillip expected Winifred to know more than she did. He expected her to understand that his heart was broken, and that he hated lying to her, and that he’d had a terrible night and wished she wouldn’t yell at him, but he hadn’t said any of it. Phillip assumed she would understand, but he didn’t give her anything to go on; it was illogical.

“I had an awful night, okay,” he offered finally, but it wasn’t exactly an olive branch as he was still pacing. Selfishly, he was still not paying attention to how Winifred might have been feeling. Obliviously, he was still not noticing how eager Marin had been to get them out of the house.

Marin felt that tug again, that sense that he should probably step in and say something. But what was there to say? He wanted them to work it out, but Phillip couldn’t stop pacing back and forth in front of the Hufflepuffs and Wini didn’t seem any less wound up now that they were sitting down. For a moment he envied his mother, up in the house as she was. Marin wondered if the others would even notice if he slunk back outside. There was a lot of tension in this room.

Lip had shaken his head earlier when Marin had asked if something had happened tonight, but after the head-shaking he’d basically said that yes, something impactful had occurred. Marin wasn't one to pry, but there was a part of him that felt like Lip had something to get out. He could feel Winifred beside him, could practically sense the buzzing aggravation gearing up to say something that probably wouldn't help.

Marin put one hand lightly on Wini’s knee. “Lip,” Marin said quietly, his voice far less abrasive than the Ravenclaw’s, and far less shrill than his housemate’s. His tone was without much expression; he wasn’t trying to defend himself, and he wasn’t really demanding answers. “Where did you go?” he asked.

And still he didn't say anything. He was silent even with her barbs. It made her feel petty and immature because he didn't reply in kind and she wanted to rage against him all the more for it. The feelings rattled around inside her and she wasn't sure what to do with them, even with the calming presence of Marin beside her. She was angry from a couple of weeks of pent up feelings and they wanted to be let loose.

The only explanation he was going to offer was 'an awful night'? Wini's brow rose, her gaze hard as she opened her mouth to question, to demand, to prod, but she went quiet as Marin put his hand on her knee. Wini slid her gaze over to her friend and immediately resented Marin for that fact that he seemed so calm, so level about everything.

With lips pursed in a pout, she bit back a thousand replies and petty, sarcastic comments and turned her gaze back to Lip, waiting for an answer.

It felt wrong to reply to Marin's question after months spent avoiding Winifred's, but Phillip couldn't stop himself. "To Maidstone," he replied, turning his eyes away from them to look at a painting that was still drying and pretend like it held his interest. Maybe Winifred's constant interrogations had begun to wear him down, or maybe Phillip had finally realized he didn't want to deal with this alone, but he felt the strange urge to tell them about his night. To share things like friends do. He wanted to lean on them, even though he didn't deserve the stability they might offer.

He was still angry at Winifred for demanding answers, but something about how Marin had quieted the room helped Phillip calm down. It wasn't as if the tension was gone, and there were still so many things that felt like they might boil over, but as always, Phillip's obsession with Billie blurred everything else.

Phillip never meant to go back to Maidstone, but Billie had owled him, and off he went. As he always did, Phillip expected they'd put the few pieces together and realize that Maidstone equaled Billie. "She owled me; I thought she was hurt," He reached out toward the painting that was still wet as if he might touch it and paused with the tip of his finger barely an inch from the slick oil on canvas. "She was drunk, though,"