Clockwork

From the very beginning, the golden Finnigan couple had been predicted to divorce. Despite being close during their Hogwarts years, it was clear that Lavender was and would forever be waiting for Ronald Weasley to notice her again and ‘love’ her as he had done in their sixth year. Lavender had married Seamus despite her near constant pining for Ron and had set about making a life for herself that was as close to the redheaded Weasel as possible. Seamus had just wanted a life with the woman he’d fallen in love with. He wanted kids and a dog and maybe even an allotment when he grew old. He got the first though had it not been for the youngest and her flair for pyrotechnics then he would’ve been adamant that the children were not his. He doted on the pair nethertheless, filling the gap and playing the part that Lavender just didn’t want to play. She had barely put on weight for the pregnancy, leaving Seamus irritable and worried more for the child’s health than the mother’s. He’d already begun to lose patience with Lavender, even then, but he hadn’t realised it himself until much later. In fact, Millie wondered why it took so long in the first place. Perhaps it was because he loved her, truly. Perhaps that was why he seemed to ignore the string of men that wined and dined her, perhaps that’s why he put up with the way she lived - because he loved her.

It wasn’t until the end of her sixth year that the divorce was finalised and the door could finally be closed on the infernal woman. Yet, much to Millie’s amazement and dismay, Lavender still hung about the house from time to time. She was too selfish to just let Seamus learn to be without her, no she had to dangle her presence in front of him instead. Millie knew the games her mother was playing but by that time Seamus was too old to bounce back as he would’ve done had he been younger. In the end the space of time between her visits grew longer until she was rarely seen at all in their family home. Slowly but surely, though still blighted by the depression that the separation and later divorce had caused him, Seamus began to date and Millie would now often find pairs of heels around the house that she knew didn’t belong to herself for they were always too garish or just plain high. She didn’t mention it to Seamus but was glad he was getting ‘out there’ again. He could do no worse than he had the first time and he was beginning to find some stability in his life. The Firewhisky was always there though, a constant in the cloud that was his life. Millie was glad to find her father was slowly coming back again, a smile returning to his face that was solely for her - a scowl ready for when Elliot turned up. He was still drunk though. Most of the time, anyway.

Millie only saw her mother on high days and holidays, much like Seamus did - except, Millie quite liked it that way whereas it drove Seamus mad; well, at first anyway. She could only assume Lavender had kept up her social life and that meant talking with Demelza and Dean. Millie was quietly curious about what her mother got up to though she did not put a great effort into finding out. Millie couldn’t help but frown a little at Trent’s response and she shifted slightly, uncomfortable suddenly, in her seat. She’s seen Dean not very long ago, a month - two at the most. He’d been in Diagon Alley, purchasing some food from a vendor on one of the many stalls, a female companion talking to him while avidly reading through a program of some sort. Millie hadn’t said hello, she’d merely ducked her head and kept on walking. She hadn’t said anything, and didn’t speak and relay what she’d seen now for fear that it wasn’t something Trent would want to know. She merely stifled herself with a drag and a mouthful of beer.

“Felicity,” Millie said instead, deciding to pick up on that rather than linger on the parental subject. “Felicity Jane Finnigan - the best thing Elliot ever had an inadvertent hand in creating and he’s too dumb to see it. She’s mine, most days. He doesn’t care, much. His house keeper would like to cut off his balls and roast them I think. Grace Parker, do you remember her? Brunette, Ravenclaw...Sarah’s friend? Silly cow.” Mille scoffed and flicked the ash away again as she took another swig of her beer, now finding that she lacked on that front somewhat. “I’ve been wondering whether I can appeal to the courts. I have friends in the Wizengamot. I figure, she’s here most days...why not have her for good? I’d rather see her happy with me than miserable with Dickface, y’know?”

Millie shook her head and smiled a little at the mention of Stewart, but not because of what Trent was liable to assume. “Yes, it was quite terrible. Though, he’s alive. No, Trent...I have no intention of visiting him. He expects me to and it is for that reason that I won’t. I’m not playing the concerned little girlfriend because I’m neither concerned nor his girlfriend. He’s just an alright shag with a thumping good paycheque that is too good to give up just yet. He fills the gap. He doesn’t quite fit but he is good for what he’s worth. I’m not his. He doesn’t seem to remember that.” Millie stubbed out her cigarette and shook her head. Her head turned at the sound of the fire roaring and her eyes flicked to Trent, a smile lighting up her face. “C’mon then, let’s settle that rumbling tummy of yours. I’ll get the plates, do you want another beer?”

He was in the middle of another drag of his joint when he paused to stare. Quickly enough, Trent recovered and blew a thick wad of smoke from his mouth. “Wow.” That was all he had as he shook his head in amazement. “I wouldn’t have pegged him for a young dad.” With a great sense of relief at this new knowledge, Trent grinned a little, thinking about the photo of this little girl that Millie seemed so enamoured with. Even for one who didn’t fancy children, he could see why Millie loved her so much. Easily, he warmed to the idea of Felicity. “I …” He frowned in thought. “I remember Sarah, of course. Just … not …. a Grace Parker. Perhaps I will when I see her.” After all, Trent had been immensely anti-social, to the point that he really only talked to Gryffindors, besides the few times in classes. If not for playing for the Quidditch team, perhaps too little people would even remember his existence in school.

Trent turned to Millie with an unintentionally wistful look on his face, watching her talk about Stewart. A millisecond of hope was stifled by a self-assurance that he could neither fill the gap that the girl was talking about. It was all over. Millie was happy, she looked happy. It was proof that she got along well without him, and he should probably stay away to let her be happy this way. Yet, having her presence back with him was too good to throw it all away. With a sigh, he took a last drag of his spliff before stubbing it out at the ashtray.

By this time, Lucius was already snoozing peacefully. Trent nodded and grinned at Millie before turning to look at the cat situation. He chuckled as he recognised that large bit of soft spot he felt for Lucius. This time a good chuckle, of course. Trent lifted the cat, who protested and glared at him. Still, he merely smothered the fluffy creature with an excessive amount of kisses on the face before setting it down on the seat that he had occupied just a moment ago. Lucius wasn’t pleased. He continued to glare at Trent who, at the sight of that, picked the cat up again and followed Millie into the kitchen. He, after all, had no intention to be served. Well, really, he just wanted the excuse to be around her. “I’ve got hands for plates, Mills. But, well, I’ll help you.” The cat struggled out of his hold once the three of them entered the kitchen, almost as if he was now expecting Millie to feed him, given the place. He looked expectantly at her.

“Have you got football on TV?” There it was; his mind on the fixture of his Muggle obsession. Granted, he had not always been into football. Nights spent with Ceth and Severin, or Ceth or Severin, had encouraged that. “Or, well, I …” He shrugged, then smiled. “I’ll get them.” Without waiting for Millie’s response, he leapt for the refrigerator and produced two bottles of beer. Then, at a whim, he began to juggle them, biting his tongue slightly as he grinned and did so. Obviously, there were still parts of his boyhood that he had retained, parts that he had been accustomed to show Millie. He was slowly, but steadily, getting comfortable with her; and surprisingly, it didn’t take long. Well, as long as he let himself forget all the nasty parts of their history, long enough to not dwell and get emotional about them.

Still grinning, Trent brought a bottle to his lips and attempted to pry the cap open with the side of his teeth. He had learnt the trick from Severin. It had taken a couple of bleeding lips to do so successfully. He popped the first bottle with ease, offering it to Millie with a triumphant look on his face. He motioned for the second bottle which, thanks to complacency, cut the left side of his upper lip. Trent squeezed his eyes shut for a millisecond in response to the sharp pain. The blood was quick to show up. He contemplated sucking at it, but reached his left arm up to wipe at some of it that had gotten passed the inside of his mouth. How wonderful, a moment of boyish impulse to impress a girl, and now he was a pathetic young man with blood dribbling out from between his lips. It wasn’t a lot, no. But it was enough to be noticeable.

A smile came to Millie’s lips thought it was a wry one, one that lacked its usual amusement. She’d lost the patience she’d once had with Elliot. She no longer cared for her brother as she had once upon a time. He’d lost the respect she’d had for him long ago and now only conversed with him unless she absolutely had to and if it pertained to Felicity. If not, she blanked him. She didn’t care for him anymore and cared even less for his ex-girlfriend who gave Millie as much grief as he did. She was sick of her just as she was sick of her brother and had made her distaste known. She just felt sorry for Felicity, hence her desire to adopt the child. She wasn’t sure of her rights as an aunt exactly but she was going to give it her best shot. She presented the stability Felicity needed, Dickface could be the money behind her if he really wanted to - and Millie doubted he would be. She’d washed her hands with him almost entirely now. She doubted Trent had much to do with him either, if at all. She just couldn’t get away with cutting the contact in a similar way. She wished, and knew maybe one day she’d get away with it. There was no need for Elliot’s presence in her life anymore, none at all.

“God, I wish I was in your position,” Millie laughed. “To not have to remember Grace, what a luxury that would be.” Millie stubbed her cigarette out in the ash tray on the kitchen counter. She then went to the cupboards while Trent busied himself in the fridge. Millie took three plates out. First, her pride and joy: the pizza plate. Then, two others. She decided against cutlery, it was pizza after all, and flicked her wand, making the pizza boxes zoom through the house into the kitchen where they settled on the counter. Millie broke the front of the first box and, though not before duplicating the plate, eased the pizza onto the plate. She then put the second pizza onto the newly conjured plate and turned on her cooker, slipping the plate onto the shelf and putting the stove on low so as only to keep the pizza warm. She then busied herself with cutting slices of the pizza, only pausing when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.

Millie looked around and gasped at the sight of Trent juggling the bottles. She dropped the slicer and lifted her hands up ready to catch a stray bottle, glad when he finally stopped being foolish with the bottles, only to be further horrified when he brought one of the bottles to his mouth. “Trent-” Millie’s protests where hushed when he lifted the cap off easily with his teeth and held the bottle out to her. She took it hesitantly and smiled a little before looking up to see him close his eyes. Millie put her bottle down and immediately went to get a fresh cloth from underneath the sink. She wetted it with water from the tap and moved towards him, grabbing his chin with her other hand before he had time to protest or get away. “You idiot!” She glowered at him, pausing momentarily to slap him on the shoulder before her hand came to his face again. “Come here, where’ve you cut yourself?” Millie dabbed a little at the cut, surprised by the amount of blood spewing from it. “Tottenham and Man City tonight, right?” Millie inquired with a small smile.

Exactly what came over him, there would be no certain answer. What came to him, however, was the sting behind his upper lip. He tried to contain his reaction the pain. It wouldn’t look good on him after all, he thought. He was going to bear it. Thankfully, Millie’s fussing over it made it easier for him to distract himself from the sting that felt like it was slowly but surely going away. He grinned a little in a show of bravery (whatever it was) and at what she had pointed out was his obvious foolishness. Trent was, however, not sorry that it happened. Even if he tried to avoid admitting it, he was appreciating the fact that Millie was touching him again. And with the sort of caring touch she offered, he was beginning to feel happy with himself.

Trent set his bottle down on the kitchen counter, but didn’t shift his position, not wanting to disrupt the proximity he was at with Millie. With a hand, he reached to hold her wrist, before letting it go and looking away. At her question, he brightened up. “The two most ridiculously disgusting football clubs in the world, yes. This would be a good time to drop a bomb on both of them.” With a grin, Trent moved to shift his view of Lucius from the corner of his eye to a central focus. “He’s hungry,” he pointed out, matter-of-factly; as if he had a way to confirm this. Whatever it was, of course, Trent was paying a lot of attention to the cat, who was now staring in a curious fashion at the two of them, but is really more intent on demanding to be fed.

“I’ll share my pizza with you!” Trent chirped and moved to pick his plate of pizza, before grabbing onto his beer bottle again. Why did he set it down? Did he expect anything to happen then? Shrugging to himself, the young man made his way to the living room, as if he had assumed and decided that the meal was going to be had there. Lucius followed tightly, eyeing the pizza. Trent settled comfortably into the sofa before reaching forward to set his bottle down on the coffee table. Then, almost as if he was waiting expectantly for Millie, he watched her with the pizza plate laid on his lap. Lucius continued to eye the pizza, as if at any minute, he was going to pounce at it.

Relenting, Trent broke a piece off his massive slice and offered it to the cat, who swiftly took it in his mouth and settled down to enjoy it. Glad to be left in peace for the moment, Trent lifted the slice before stopping to wonder how he was going to eat with the gash in his mouth. At that, he set the pizza back down to the plate and prodded the wound with his tongue, checking for it. “How …” He started, and as usual, had to think before finishing his sentence. “How are you?” Too general. “What do you do?”

Millie was surprised by how agreeable Trent was to her dabbing at the wound he’d made in his lip. She had been sure he would’ve shrugged her off or found some reason for her not to touch him but she was overjoyed to find that he was willing to let her. Once satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, Millie took the cloth away and tossed it into the sink. She decided against drawing attention to the slightly action that Trent had rethought and instead turned her attention to what he was saying, laughing at his supposed hatred for the clubs. Millie reached up and fluffed her hair a little, moving it around before letting it fall once more. She then looked over at her cat and frowned at him, ignoring the mew in response from the incessantly annoying creature. She scowled at it and had a mind to shoe him away but found that the cat was quicker to follow Trent than listen to her. Millie, with her hands on her hips, watched, her face a picture of amusement, as Trent wandered out of the room with the plate of pizza and she gathered up the other plates and her beer before following afterwards.

Millie sat down on the couch beside Trent, handing him a plate and moving the larger pizza one onto the coffee table. She took a swig of her beer and put her plate on her lap before reaching forward to put the beer down and pick up a bit of pizza to sit on her plate. Then she grabbed the television controls and tossed it to Trent, trusting that he knew how to work it. She was still a bit...slow on that, despite Seamus having one and programming it so he got the Quidditch on it. Millie had Quidditch on hers too but that was all she really used it for. She was sure when Trent turned it on there would be highlights of the game he’d just played littered across the screen. Millie was interested in football, though. Her father had been a fan of it - not that she’d seen much. It was something he liked to do on Saturdays. While Lavender had facials and manicures, he went to see West Ham play. Mille could only remember going a handful of times but that was when she was really tiny. She didn’t she could recall the ground now - much less the rules or the object of the game despite it being vaguely similar to Quidditch.

“What do I do?” Millie echoed, taking her beer again and bringing it to her lips. “The Ministry.” She said after a sip. “I’m in with the Aurors only...not really. You know I was the Minister’s secretary for the longest time, right? Well after I left Hogwarts I went down into the Department of Law and Enforcement and worked there as a secretary up. I wanted into the Auror division but the woman I first worked under told me I was better off sticking it out on the promotion ladder and seeing where I go. I now have my own office - hah!” Millie puffed her chest out a little in pride. “I’m in charge of their training, the Aurors I mean. Pyrotechnics, mostly - then onto the hard stuff. I spend most of my time in the Department of Mysteries though, with the spell researchers and the rune specialists decoding century old spells that the Aurors need to know and need to know how to defend themselves against. I suppose technically I’m not supposed to tell you that but you’re Trent.” Millie shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Basically, I blow them up and run them ragged until they’ve experienced anything as close to death but not quite the release of it. Bless ‘em. I run them ragged.” Millie laughed and shook her head. “We’re missing the gruelling Quidditch exercises though now. They can’t be bothered to put me on the ocurse and no one from ‘Sports wants to help out. Bastards.” Then an idea struck Millie and she looked at Trent, jumping forward so she was closer to him, excitement widening her eyes. “Say, you wouldn’t want to help me would you? Just for a couple o’ days. You’d be paid of course.”

Trent stared at the remote control, catching it in time before it would have landed flat on his pizza. Quidditch highlights flashed onto the screen when he hit the power button. Millie had obviously been on this channel the last time she watched something at home. With the highlights currently on the Puddlemere-Tornadoes game, Trent lowered the control and watched the screen intently. Shockingly enough, Puddlemere had lost. Trent shot an incredulous look to Millie. Thankfully, he had a mouth full of his first bite of pizza, which effectively muffled the expletives that he had intended to let out. Shaking his head, he returned the attention to the highlights, which had quickly moved on to a shot of Stewart falling off his broom after the hit of the bludger. “Ow. That was quite a hit, wasn’t it?” He continued to chew. Secretly, now, he was glad that Stewart suffered the bludger. This was the guy who had been tuppinghaving the parts of Millie he had been deprived of. Of course, then, Trent was going to get territorial about it even though he had no right to be. One can’t fend off such jealousy; not Trent.

“And Wander-ing, no more! Former Wigtown Wanderer, Trenton Thomas, featured for the Magpies today in a game that could potentially be the start of a wonderful career! The latest Chaser-to-watch had a decent season with the Wanderers, erratic as his performance was. So it seems that Campbell worked his magic again. Well, let’s hope we’re going to see more of this young lad keeping up with his performance today. The Magpies certainly have a strong team of Chasers now, a good sign for their title hopes. Man of the moment was still Jacob Green, of course. This guy has proven his worth time and time again, it’s not a surprise anymore. Stewart Hoffman, however, looks set to be out for the rest of the season. This would certainly spell trouble for Campbell, who has only Steve Clyne to turn to. Had it been eight years ago, Clyne would have been the best option. It remains to be seen how this former star Keeper attempts to save the Magpies for the rest of the season.”

With that, Trent flipped the channel, grateful to find the football one only after a few clicks. He had had enough of Quidditch for now. Spurs were fifteen minutes into a game with Man City, and he watched the ball for a moment, wishing it would be the bomb he had wished for; or that the players would go into a mad rampage and start killing each other. Amused at the mental image in his head, Trent grinned and chuckled to himself before realising it and stopping himself, slightly embarrassed at his private thoughts. He had lived too long in them to socialise like a normal person. He lifted the slice of pizza and continued to eat.

There was a certain look of admiration on his face when he turned to Millie, definitely a reflection of his thoughts to her career. It was impressive to him. Then again, he had always thought the world of her. She was perfect in every way. Even when they fought, he felt angry mostly at himself for fighting with her. Yet, ego was the only force that made him do it. Wondering why Millie didn’t ask Stewart for help instead, Trent decided to leave that out of the conversation. He needed to stop being such a knob. Millie hadn’t been interested to talk about the other guy, after all. Trent took the last bite of his slice of pizza before turning back to her, nodding slowly in response.

“You don’t have to pay me. I’m … I’m just me. I’d help. What is it?”

The Quidditch Highlights were, as Millie had predicted, embarrassingly the first thing to come onto the television. It was her passion though; that much was certain and so she couldn’t hid her enthusiasm for it being on there even though it was rather typical of her. She smiled despite herself and brought her pizza up to her mouth, blowing on it momentarily before taking a bite and taking in the terrific taste of the cheese, the tomato and, of course, the pepperoni. Millie smirked a little at the result of the Puddlemere game and elbowed Trent playfully. “Hey! You’re a Magpies man now! Who cares about smelly old United? Viva la Magpies, Trentypoo!” and with that, as if to legitimise what she’d said, Millie took a big bite of pizza, nodding firmly as she did so before turning her attention to the television just in time to see the replay of Stewart’s fall. Millie couldn’t help but recoil at the sight of it. She frowned but still didn’t feel the urge to visit him. He’d have visitors, female and male ones. She didn’t need to join the fray - and she didn’t want to either. Millie merely hummed in agreement but said nothing on the subject, inwardly urging the highlights to move on.

Millie kicked her feet up onto the couch and manoeuvred herself as the commentary blared from the speakers, settling herself against the soft arm of the chair. She then brought her feet up, forgetting that she was wearing a dress but forever grateful that it didn’t move too much, and placed her feet on Trent’s shoulders - the familiarity having returned enough for her to be cheeky with him. She was thankful that they didn’t stink, that was something only Elliot was afflicted with and was glad she had her mother’s sweet smelling toesies instead of man feet and smelly man feet at that. Millie poked Trent in the cheek and grinned at him. “Latest. Chaser. To. Watch.” She repeated, poking him each time with her toe as if to ram home the point. “Bright future! You’re set for the big time Trentypoo. You’re on a rollercoaster that’s only going to go up!”

Millie glanced only briefly at the football but was more interested in her pizza. She’d pay attention to that in a minute. At the moment she was happier to observe Trent. He’d changed, boy had he changed. He was in that boy-to-man stage but still wasn’t quite there yet. The youth was still present but he was very much grown - just as she was. Millie found herself smiling even wider when he told her he’d help and she took her feet from his shoulders, instead moving to cross her legs and she sat up, finding herself quite a bit closer to Trent than she had been before. She looked up at him, her grin only widening, and bounced a little where she was sat, her words coming out faster than her brain could keep up.

“Really?!” She exclaimed, the childlike excitement returning with full force. “Merlin! You’re a life saver, Trent! We’ve been looking for ages and you’ll be paid either way - maybe it’ll get you out of that box-flat sooner, eh? But we’ve been looking for someone to do Quidditch like training for the poor sods. They haven’t had that yet and no one really wants to do it. I didn’t want Stewart anywhere near work, thank you very much...but you...Merlin! You’re a bloody star!” And with that, almost on impulse, Millie leaned up and planted a kiss on Trent’s cheek. The warmth of it made her freeze. She paused, her grip tightening on the plate and she lingered for a moment before pulling slowly away. “Sorry...” She whispered, though made no move to return. She was frozen, the space between her lips and his cheek barely a ruler’s width - half at the most. Fifteen centimetres. Ten, perhaps. Millie closed her eyes and bit her lip, regretting the decision almost immediately. “I...I..” She fumbled for words to say but they failed her and all she could do was kneel there, centimetres away from his cheek, from his lips, desperately wishing the world would swallow her up.

Trent shook his head in defiance.

“Once a Puddy, always a Puddy.”

And all at once, Trent found himself in a difficult position. In a typical Millie fashion, she stumped him. The sudden weight on his shoulders obviously got his attention. He turned to watch the girl, who didn’t seem to mind any of what she was doing. The familiarity of it all warmed his heart, as if it was forcing him out of the past, the one he had been trying to pull himself out of all this time. Trent managed a grin at Millie’s positivity. It was like the pair of them. One had paid attention to the wary mention of the commentator’s note of his erratic performances, while the other drifted away with the praise that was really lavished on an uncertain youngster brimming with potential. And as it was a few years ago, Millie’s optimism was still infectious. Trent felt himself lifted up by it. She was still the only one who could save him, even by just a bit.

He quickly turned away, feeling Millie’s eyes on him. At that moment he felt naked, yet unthreatened. This was, after all, his Mophead. What was there about him that she didn’t know? Still, absence had bred a certain sense of paranoia. He couldn’t keep away the fact that he felt the need to impress her. Yet, he had nothing to show for. That thought alone made him miserable, but only slightly. And with speed, the waft of her smell teased him, sufficiently distracting him from his thoughts, and certainly too, from the game.

Trent grinned and watched the excitement in front of him. No, not on the screen, but on the girl’s face. At that point he did not know what he had agreed to. He had said yes. Of course, he would. He would have said yes even if Millie should ask him to bring the Moon into her room. Worrying about what and how and why and when and where would only come after. It was only when Millie began to elaborate about the favour that Trent began to protest from the lack of confidence in his abilities (certainly inadequate to train others). Too bad the protest was abruptly stifled by the sudden intimacy that Millie had involuntarily thrown the both of them into.

Before he could realise that he was holding his breath longer than usual, Trent leaned towards Millie, swallowing her up as he felt himself being engulfed too by her kiss. The tight ball at his throat clenched even tighter, as if he had choked up tears to stifle. Then he opened his eyes, only to find that the moment of slight gratification was just all in his head. Those fifteen centimetres between them undoubtedly became five in that second, but Trent hardly moved beyond the distance. He blinked. Why was he still living in his head? He wanted, more than anything else, to scoop her into his arms, and make sure she would never leave again. But, it could be his lack of guts, or his lack of self-assurance/assertiveness, or a bad combination of both, that made Trent clear his throat, blink and look away.

He reached for another slice of pizza. From the corner of his eyes, Trent spied a cat staring intently at his plate. Yet, he didn’t offer it this time. His mind was beating him up. Why? Why did he have to run at the first call for him to act? He hated himself, there and then. The berations were ever coming, ever constant. “N’prob’m,” he muttered, then brought himself to look at Millie again. “I’m sorry.” What for? For fighting with you, for not actually fighting for you, for letting you leave, for not returning your kiss, for wanting you, for loving you in spite of myself. He was overwhelmed by his feelings. Yet, Trent put on a face of composure. He desperately needed a joint. Instead, he set his plate on the coffee table and turned to her, as if only now he was ready to face whatever she wanted again. He did this way too often. Too bad life rarely offers second chances. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, softly, looking at Millie with all his feelings reflected in his eyes.

The rejection cut into Millie far deeper than she would’ve first thought. Her heart had soared, buoyed by the idea that he might return her kiss, but it came crashing down into her gut, torn and bleeding once again. The blonde closed her eyes, a shaky, shuddering breath leaving her lips and blowing against Trent’s ear. She wetted her lips and moved her head right, making to move it left in a shake of disappointment but paused. She bit her lip and moved back to her end of the couch, finding that she could not bring herself to eat. Millie leaned forward and put the plate on the table, taking her beer from the side and taking a generous swig. She needed something to busy herself with, she knew, otherwise she’d be reduced to nothing more than a soppy, salty mess. She hated him for it. Even after everything. Everything that had happened. She hated him, but she didn’t. She couldn’t for the life of her explain it and it made her stomach twist and turn if she thought about it. She wanted him to leave, in that moment, so she could convince herself that he’d not entered her life again, so she could deal with it on her own. But at the same time he wanted him to stay, and more importantly she wanted him to want her. But he wouldn’t. He just... he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even try. Why?

Much to her relief, Millie found a packet of cigarettes and fumbled with them, dismayed at the fact that it was nearly empty but pleased to find it had at least some in there. She continued to fumble with them until she managed to light the one she’d plied from the packet and she inhaled it greedily, relishing the burn on her unprepared lungs. Millie took the cigarette away and blew a great plume of smoke up into the air. Her eyes turned briefly to Trent before flicking away, her head this time making the full shake. She then brought the beer to her lips, taking another hearty gulp of the bitter liquid before swallowing, finding such a natural thing for the first time in a long time the hardest thing in the world. Not only did Millie swallow back the beer but she also swallowed back tears that were threatening to overtake her. She had to deal with it, she told herself. She had no other choice. She couldn’t kick him out; she couldn’t bear to see the back of him. She couldn’t let him leave, never again. But yet, what was it worth? There was nothing anymore. He didn’t love her, not even a little bit it seemed. They weren’t Trent and Millie, the diamond duo anymore. They were Trent and Millie, two separate entities doomed to live separate lives. He, alone and she with Stewart if all else failed. Oh, Merlin forbid it.

“You know Trent,” Millie said slowly, her voice hollow with the tears that were desperate to shed themselves and spill down her cheeks to stain the skirt of the dress. “I never stopped loving you. I realised I’d done wrong. I knew then that you’d done wrong and I know it now but I forgave you. Merlin did I forgive you. I was just hurt, that was all. But nothing I could say could make you see afterwards. I...I’m sorry things ended the way they did but I never stopped caring for you and I don’t think I will ever be able to love someone the way I do you. I’m not...sorry for that. In fact, I’m glad of it. Because...even though I’ve lost you it is proof enough that I’m not completely incapable of love. No matter how much...it hurts...I...” Millie inhaled a shaky breath and closed her eyes momentarily, a lone tear having slipped down across her cheek. “Spurs have scored,” she whispered, hearing the roar of the home team on the television. Though she found no comfort in the knowledge of the 1-0 advantage Spurs had on United. Nothing bar Whisky could help ease heartbreak but nothing could ease this heartbreak - only oblivion. She loved him, Merlin knew she did. But what was that worth anymore? Nothing. Nothing at all.

The warmth of her breath had been the mist in his dreams, enveloping and embracing. Yet, he had retreated. Trent couldn’t bring himself to look at Millie. He didn’t dare to look. The messy football formations on the television screen became a less mind-boggling scene to set his eyes to. The Man City striker rolled for what looked like a good nine yards after what looked like a heavy tackle from two Spurs defenders. The agony on his face, which he used both hands now to clutch in an over-dramatic fashion, was something that Trent could more than relate to. He bit his upper lip, only to flinch from the sting of his earlier wound. Quickly, he released the both of it from between his teeth. Trent’s eyes shot to the meaningless pizza he had set down, before slowly allowing his eyes to spy at the other quiet end of the sofa.

His heart sank at the sight of the girl lighting another cigarette. Sure, who was he to speak? He was in no position to preach about the ills of smoking. Still, it always worried him when Millie was over-doing it. It was hypocrisy, alright, but one with good intentions. Even if he wanted to kill himself slowly with all the poison he was feeding himself, he never liked the idea of her following suit. At the sound of Millie’s voice again, Trent shot his eyes at her before placing them slightly away, still not daring to look her straight in the eyes. He dared himself to look, though, when her voice broke from the obvious strain she had placed on it to say the words that she did. Undoubtedly, he ought to have been ashamed there and then, if not before. There was so much blame that he needed to take in how things had ended with Millie and him. Instead, he had spent all the time lamenting on how her heart was not for him anymore, and how the universe continued to conspire against him. It was as if he enjoyed the pain that he fed himself, with the help of the universe.

Trent’s eyes flickered to the television screen to see the instant replay of the Spurs captain heading the ball into the goal after a successful trajectory from a corner kick. At this point, fortunately, he had enough sense to find football a lot less requiring of his attention than the contemplation of words that had spilled from Millie. He was sick of his passivity. He needed to act, and act before the opportunity was really too far away to catch up to. Having had his attention return quickly back to the girl, he watched her wistfully before leaning slowly to reach a hand towards the cigarette she held loosely between her fingers. Without saying anything, he brought it to the ashtray on the coffee table and stubbed it out.

“I …” Then he gestured to the ashtray. “You’ve had too many.” He bit his lower lip. The seconds began to slip away as he allowed an unnecessarily long silence linger between them. He inhaled deeply, a seeming pose of composure that hid a battle that was going on inside. His body had heated up, even the organs and parts of it were hitting out at him to do something right this time. “I … Well. Can I …” Another deep breath. Meekly, – Merlin knows he needed to be brave rather than this, but it was a decent start – Trent reached for Millie’s hand again. The warmth of it encouraged him. He began to rub his thumb over the smooth skin of her hand. He didn’t know what to say. Undoubtedly, her words struck a chord with him. Something else had clicked in him, as if he was gradually learning and realising things that he should have allowed himself too ages ago. Millie’s words had caused a floodgate of emotions, but even more, it had led to an eruption of words in his head. It was a case of having too many choices to choose from, which really meant one couldn’t choose because the excess of it all annulled any authority of choice that was initially there.

Trent let her hand go, turning to look away from her to his hands. He couldn’t brave through anything while looking at her. It was oddly blinding. “I cuddle you every night. In my dreams.” Matter-of-factly. Honestly. Trent continued to stare intently into his hands miserably. “It calms me down, really. I … I sleep only after you’ve smiled to me. In my dreams. I don’t know. It helps me … get by, I guess. Helps me sleep, helps me live.” Trent brought a joint out of his pocket, his fingers shaking slightly. “I’m sorry.” His other hand brought out his lighter in an equally weak fashion. “I’ve gone mad. Well, I mean, I …” He fumbled with his words. “I’m sorry.” Then, of course, the comfort of a drug … if only he could light it. Trent flicked at the lighter repeatedly, in vain.