The Great British Summertime

Spoiler:

The Ministry wasn’t too keen on letting its employees go on holiday but the Minister was and there were certain amounts of perks that came with being the direct employee of the Minister for Magic. Millie Finnigan got her time off in the last three weeks of August and it was a month or so before that she Owled Trent Thomas who she insisted come with her to Cornwall where a little holiday cottage awaited them. He’d replied sceptically, as always, giving no hint of commitment to the date. Millie planned to go regardless, even going as far as to purchase a bicycle to ride around in the village where they were staying. The house in particular was owned by a wizard called Timothy Beaufort; a wizened (get it?) old man with a long, scraggily beard and a crick in his back. He had known Millie since she was a baby and had been kind enough to give her the house for the weeks she’d booked out while he resided in London; though he had spent the first part of the summer in the house, he’d hastened to warn her – not that she had anything to worry about, it was more than a little bit clean.

When Millie arrived, the house was pristine. She was travel weary and far later than she had agreed with Mr. Beaufort. She’d missed her train, the preceding one taking her late from the platform, and so had to wait another hour or so for a train which turned out in fact to be two hours as those that were travelling to Cornwall only took night trains after a certain time. Millie didn’t think this was the case. In fact she was sure the woman at the ticket office had been lying to her and she kicked herself for not having some foresight into the events to come. But once she’d finally arrived she found the key underneath the doormat and let herself into the exquisitely furnished abode. She had barely any time to look around before putting her bags down and collapsing onto the sofa in a dead sleep that would render her unconscious until noon the next day when she finally rose to look around the village.

It was quaint and was a place most definitely not used to the company of outsiders. It had enough places to go to make it worthwhile for tourists, though. Millie returned after an idle day of walking and spent the rest of the week mincing around, relaxing and getting some work done which needed to go to the Ministry – such a move prompting the reply of ‘enjoy your holiday – stop working’ from her co-workers. Which, reluctantly, Millie did begin to do, and really began to get into it at the end of the first week. It was on the Saturday that she got her bicycle and it was on the Sunday that Trent was due to arrive so around ten o’clock Millie pulled herself from bed and went into the village to the cafe where she had her breakfast and hopped back onto the bicycle where she rode down the country lane to the small, red-brick train station where Trent was due to be at approximately 11:30. Millie stowed her bike away and took her place on the platform, moving anxiously from foot to foot as she waited for him to arrive.

the clothes of one m. mophead :3

If there was anything Trent was better at than Quidditch, it was sleep. Perhaps the emotional bundles of negativity could match up to the intensity and the frequency of his sleeps. In fact, he could unsurprisingly be better at sleep than Quidditch. Yet, at times when he really needed the recharge of a sleep, this special talent of his would fail at its operation. For better or for worse, it didn't matter. As long as something was happening the next day that required his full energy, there would almost always be no sleep. Still, the boy had been strangely hopeful. As soon as he was done with the last hour of work, he almost skipped all the way back home, carried by the prospect of a holiday, and with Millie, no less.

Admittedly, Trent had been a bit of a wet blanket. The girl had been far more enthusiastic about a holiday. He, on the other hand, had appeared nonchalant about it, only because there was nothing else in the world that he wanted more. Yet, he thought that appearing like he would trade all of the world for time away with Millie was going to jinx all the happy thoughts that invaded his head at first thought. He was an odd fruit, and this proved that he was indeed, that, and nothing less.

As soon as Trent had passed through the door into the house, he had headed straight for his room. And even though he really had nothing to pack in great quantity, he still took his time in setting the clothes and peripheries down on the bed, laying them out before rolling and folding them into his backpack. There was a note on the kitchen counter with a bit of money left under the weight of the television remote. The note from his father didn't give the boy further than a thought. He was beginning to get accustomed to having all of the house to himself these days. Unfortunately, instead of calling for pizza delivery, Trent merely pocketed the note, grabbed a bar of chocolate, went up to his room, and coupled the snack with the cigarettes that he didn't even have to bother hiding around in the house anymore.

When he finally gave up on attempts to sleep, Trent was starving. The hunger was momentarily satisfied by the milk in the fridge. It was on his way back to his room that the boy began to sniff at a foreign scent hanging in the still air of the space just outside the bedrooms of the second floor. A woman's scent, a strange sort of citrus smell of perfume. There was, however, no sound to be heard. Instead, he shrugged before returning to his room, and began to get dressed for the day. Dean hadn't been around enough for the boy to ease into a conversation requesting for permission for the holiday. Trent had, instead, took some cash out of his father's wallet, placed them together with his, before stepping out into the slightly cool air of early morning. The sun was already up, but not for very long. Trent made his way to the train station, wishing, once again, that he still had his skateboard with him. It was a good thing he was as tall as he is, at times. The height meant an easier and faster walk. And for all the times that it made him stand out in a sea of people, the boy could forgive it at times like this.

A woman's voice jolted Trent out of his daydream. There was a momentary panic as he thought he had missed his station. Quickly, the boy referred once again to the map and watched the scrollbar quite nearly above him. With a sigh of relief, he turned to look out the window once again. The woman on the system had merely announced the final destination for the train. Trent, however, was still safely away from the station that he had to alight to a waiting Millie. Safely? Merlin, was he still nervous about the prospect of seeing the girl, just the girl, even after the years of growing up together in diapers and onesies and baths and ... Trent shook his head.

Three stations from the supposed one, the boy began to fix his eyes almost painfully, intently, on the scrollbar. His fists were clenched as he replayed the different types of scenes that his brain had drafted in his anticipation of being greeted by the girl in this unfamiliar place. The ticket was becoming weak in the perspiration of his left palm. He also had his backpack ready, as if he could bolt through the train doors any minute now. At the peak of such anticipation, Trent couldn't keep his hand away from his hair. Even with the hopelessness of the state of his hair, he still ruffled them hopefully, as if in doing so he could make the hair that stuck out in all of their inconsistent and stubborn directions, to work a look for him.

Finally, he stood up, adjusted himself with eager nervousness once again, and waited for the train to come to a stop, being reaching to press a button at the side for the doors to be opened for him. Without daring to look around at the other people at the station, Trent stepped off the train without much hesitation, even if he was afraid to look his destination in the eye. It was only after he adjusted his backpack once again, ruffled through his hair once again, that he began to search for Millie with his eyes. It was too bad, then, that a part of his hair decided to stick out like a sore thumb at the back of his head, and as the breeze passed him, it danced along with it.

Then, there she was, as if it was all part of a dream. Trent admired the girl from afar, feeling the corners of lips begin to tug up, the insides of himself get ever more clammy, as the jolts in his stomach increased in their intensity. Quickly, he found himself walking towards Millie, watching her profile from a distance as his heart warmed to the juxtaposition of her in the frame of the many strangers that he couldn't be arsed to look at. It was also in that ample time allowed to watch her that the boy was overcome by the insistent appreciation signalled seemingly all his organs, as they surged to encourage his five senses to reach for the girl, eager to have the smell of her skin and her hair first, permeating his senses.

"Mophead," the first word was uncertain rather than confident. Yet, it couldn't hide his delight. Trent smiled, albeit an attempt to contain just how wide it looked.

The sunshine had come out reluctantly from where it had been sleeping, sending shards of bright yellow light across the landscape where it saw fit to stretch its feet. The day had previously been dark and almost gloomy in the way it had presented itself but despite that the people got on with their lives, taking an umbrella and a light coat should it rain or grow chilly. The wind remained high, whipping through the trees that stood shoulder to shoulder in lines that seemed to pop up intermittently through the village. It was bizarre but the large firs seemed to fit in with the comfortable, homely facade of the village. It also made Millie begin to wonder what it would be like at Christmas with fresh snow on the ground and the promise of great gifts on the twenty-fifth. At this thought she made a mental note to ask Trent as to whether he’d like to spend some time there during winter with her. She wasn’t sure whether he’d immediately go for it but she liked the idea well enough and figured she’d ask him later while they were making supper or whenever they had a moment to think.

During the time she spent loitering at the station; at least three trains went by. It was the fourth one that contained Trent and Millie hopped over the low, iron fence she’d been waiting behind with her bike and walked out onto the station platform where she looked up and down, only setting eyes on Trent the third time she did so. Millie’s whole face brightened immediately and she took off at a run without even spending a moment to consider whether that was an appropriate form of greeting or not. Regardless, she found herself running towards him and once she was close enough she jumped, tumbling through the air over the last few feet, catching her legs around his middle and her arms around his neck as she embraced him tightly. Millie buried her face into his neck and she inhaled his scent greedily. She pulled back with a smile before pressing forward, stealing a quick, cheeky kiss from his lips before grinning wickedly at him.

“Good Morning, Trentypoo!” She cooed happily at him, lifting her hands to rake her fingers through his hair. “You’re taller, I think.” Her hands came down to cup his face and she squeezed his cheeks, leaning forward to rub her nose against his. “How’re you, Trent? Have you sold many brooms? The weather has been lovely here. It’s a bit funny today, though. We can go to the pub if you like. Hungry? They do great grub there. I’m starved, actually. Let’s go! Oh! I got bicycles! I quite like them. They’re quite useful. That’s how I’ve been getting around. But you’re quite tall. I could use you as a sight-seeing mechanism. Hm. How was your train journey, anyway? Did you get me anything? How’s London? Does it still smell? Seen Elliot lately? Is he still being a dick? How’re your parental? Oooh! Guess what? I found out that carrots used to be purple and they grow purple carrots here! I got some the other day. They’re in the fridge! We should eat them later. Ooh! Look! You’re so fluffy!” Millie’s hands pulled up out of his hair and she stared at him, giggling softly to herself before leaning forward to steal a kiss again. “Very fluffy indeed.”

Trent loved travelling by train. Even the Hogwarts Express still held a certain sort of charm for him. Perhaps some of the boyish wonder about trains had begun to wear off. It felt too long ago that he had attempted to chase after them, trying but failing to push himself on his skateboard along the unsuitable grounds running beside railway tracks. Then, he would give up and lay on the grass, board beside him, and watch as the trains go by. Yet, travelling in the trains themselves was always an exponentially better experience. You go to places, and you get to see others along the way. True, you were still made to be a spectator, but that was merely the beauty of the process of getting to a destination. By this time, Trent had already had many trips on the Hogwarts Express. In contrast, his trips on the Muggle trains were not accustomed to a habit. There were always places he was unfamiliar with. They along made the journey worth its while.

While that may all have been the case, Trent found it impossible to remember another time when the destination was too much of an awe, that it made the journey lacklustre. Yet, as the boy slowed in his steps to receive an excited Millie into his arms, even this destination to her made all his other journeys less than he had always remembered them to be. Now, he couldn't wipe the massive grin on his face, as he allowed the girl to lift herself up with the strength of his arms, feeling her secure herself around his waist. The smell of Millie's hair still managed to swarm at his senses. Trent melted into it as he felt the pressure of Millie's weight on and against him. So this was what the soldiers must have felt upon returning home to their doting wives, except, he believed it must have been far more intense for them.

Quickly, the boy stopped himself in his thoughts. What wife? He felt embarrassed by the comparison. It was, after all, unlike him to assume any sort of possible privilege position with anyone at all. To be important or worthwhile to anyone at all, it seemed to Trent, was impossible to reckon with. It was, of course, not a bad thing to be important, especially not to the one person you were obsessed over. The problem was in believing that you were even there. Yet, as soon as he felt the kiss of Millie's lips, Trent didn't care. There were times, thankfully, when he would decide to leave the thinking for later, if only to savour the preciousness of the present moment.

Just as the boy parted his lips to return a greeting with them, the bombardment of questions reigned him back. Trent broke into a bit of a chuckle, and grinned as he watched the girl patiently, admiring the spirit in her eyes as she spoke enthusiastically to him. He chuckled again when she rubbed noses with him, feeling his heart soar at the light-hearted affections she seemed adamant to shower him with. With a mixture of amusement and confusion, Trent began to attempt his replies to Millie. But even as he grappled with the speed of her many questions, he found his face being grabbed once again, pulled into another brief kiss, wishing she had lingered or allowed it to be longer. Yet, her affection was overwhelming once again, he couldn't help but chuckle in a kind of happiness that hasn't made its presence felt within him in a long, long time.

"Yeah, well, you still look every bit like a mop." The hands that had held Millie to help support her with his arms pulled her closer yet towards his body, involuntarily, as Trent sought to secure her weight on him. "And I'm starving, too! It's a good thing you got the bicycles. I was close to just grabbing you and take off to the nearest pub. Any grub will do at this point. I haven't eaten for ... possibly a day!" It could have been true, too. After all, lunch the day before was the last real meal that he had. Chocolates, cigarettes, and hash certainly didn't count as anything. He avoided questions about his family. It might seem out of character, but Trent wanted to dwell on better aspects of his life, which really was staring at him in the face now.

"You know I can't answer all your questions, Mills." He shook his head, but smiled patiently at the girl. "However, we've got a week, haven't we? Or more ...?" He genuinely couldn't remember. "Get me fed, then I'll talk." He nodded. "Now, where is this place? You're leading, eh." Then, as he began to walk again, Trent twirled Millie gently around as he turned in clockwise circles along the clear path to the direction leading away from the railway tracks. "So, what's your preferred mode of transport? Trent, or ... bicycles?" He chuckled.

Trent was quite a bit different than Millie remembered. She couldn’t quite place what it was but she supposed it probably had something to do with the fact that she had been away from what she considered to be civilisation for just over a week now while everyone else was in the big city. Now Millie had hardly become a country girl but she was enjoying the country far more than she ever did the city and to have Trent there was a blessing she would do well to remember. She’d been musing about his presence for most of that first week while she figured out the village, spending more time wondering whether Trent would like this and that than enjoying it herself. While musing this she also found herself wandering into strange areas that were rather off limits to tourists but those that resided there welcomed her all the same simply because she was the kind of tourist that seemed to merge with her surroundings and feel at home no matter where she was in the world. Now make no mistake, Millie had never been further afield than England and so at this she was rather bemused and had laughed at first before finding that really, it might have been true.

Millie pursed her lips at Trent before opening her mouth to defend herself. “I do not look like a mop!” She huffed, tugging on his hair a little. “I look like a Millie!” Millie bopped a little in/against Trent and smiled optimistically at him before burrowing close once more, inhaling his scent greedily, tightening her grasp on him as if to prevent anyone else from even thinking about coming near him and stealing him from her. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed him until now, until she moulded herself around him. Her fingers threaded into his hair again and she peppered kisses across her face, making sure to make the infuriating ‘mmmmwahhh!’ sounds that smelly old aunties made when they kissed their nieces or nephews and squeezed their cheeks all those other horrible things they did. “Oh yes! Food!” She exclaimed suddenly, pulling away before she got to his lips. “Right, well, it’s a lovely little pub. We can sit outside on the benches and they’ll bring food to us and it’s really yummy – well, you’ll see.” Millie’s eyes widened at his admission and she grabbed at his face again, pressing her nose and forehead against his, staring wildly at him. “You need to eat Trentypoo!” She told him hurriedly. “Let’s go! We must go and retrieve noms in order to satisfy your belly!”

Millie found herself twirling about not a moment later, clinging on a little bit tighter to Trent for fear she should fall but giggling unabatedly, her face reddening with delight. “Gotta go this way!” She exclaimed, throwing out an arm towards the village. “Then I will direct you from there, Trentypoo! For now! Strut!”

The pair received incredibly odd looks from those that were out and out about in the village but most recognised Millie after squinting a little bit at them and so her appearance made the actions legitimate. “This way!” She exclaimed as they past the Post Office. A few metres down the path, there lay a pub, the pub Millie had been talking about, called The Laughing Lobster. She didn’t know why it was named this but she always found that there was a lively, fun atmosphere in there. She waved enthusiastically at the waitress, Emma, who was stood taking the order of a couple sat on the bench the furthest away from the door and the girl returned the wave as Millie directed Trent to one of the benches on the other side of the door where from there, she slid down his body and onto the seat. “Sit!” She exclaimed, gesturing to the other side of the bench.

Emma moved over after a moment, gesturing to her notebook which she’d take the orders on. “Same as usual, Mills? Times two?” Millie nodded enthusiastically and the girl laughed, promising to be a second with the beers before disappearing into the pub. Millie whirled around in her seat, tucking her legs under the table. She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the wood and her chin in her hands, focusing her eyes on Trent so he knew he had her undivided attention. “Talk to me!” She instructed. “How was the journey? Just...everything! Tell me something – tell me everything!”

Trent wasn't a difficult person. Not really. He could, evidently, warm to anyone when there was comfort and patience in the equation. Sure, it was a no-brainer, pointing out that he merely warms to Millie and the likes. Apart from them, though, it was not as if he was absolutely anti-social all the time. His attitude and level of interaction with everyone in general was nothing short of being eccentric. No one, not even he, knew the whats and the whys and the hows of it. He was simply just born this way, a la Lady Gaga. Typically, too, it seemed as if the boy had shadows and dark clouds and rolling thunder fixedly above him, wherever he went. Still, teenage angst and what he would like you to believe as a personal cynicism to a miserable life, can never really be sustained for too many days or too many hours. And in the sunshine of Cornwall and one Millie Mophead, Trent allowed himself to be infected with the warm and happy bubble that had swarmed his current disposition.

As if he wasn't already too tall for his own liking, Trent now had a blonde on him who, despite the attention that they were both getting from the few people loitering around the station, was barely perturbed. In fact, Millie wasted no time in adding sounds to her displays of affections. It was, then, a good thing that the boy was too caught up in the bubble she had made for them to buckle at the immense embarrassment he would have felt, had he taken notice of the stares around him. He did, however, attempt to dodge from Millie's attack on his face, to no avail. After all, he had his hands full from supporting her, leaving himself open to whatever siege that the girl desired to lay on him. The combination of a frown and his smile was lost in the flurry of swaying to unsuccessfully thwart the approach of the girl's hands. It must have been quite a ride for Millie, what with the swaying and the turns. Trent only stopped when she shouted out her directions, attempting now to peer over her shoulders to ascertain where he was walking, what with all of her still almost engulfing his periphery as she sat comfortably with her legs around his waist. It was a good thing that his backpack merely contained the lightness of his clothes and nothing more. After all, he was hardly the strongest person in the world. The boy only has height on his side.

Fortunately for Trent, then, the walk wasn't a long one. Soon enough, with delighted giggles and instructions from the girl, he managed to bring the both of them, in one piece, to The Laughing Lobster. While it was barely the easiest thing to do on earth, Trent felt a pang of reluctance when he let Millie down safely to her seat. He was enjoying it, too much - her scent seemingly permanently against his nose. Still, the smell of food quickly replaced the assault on his senses, so that Trent wasted no time in directing his attention now to satisfying his dangerously empty stomach. Millie was faster than him, though. Or rather, it was the waitress who was. Swiftly as she came, she left, with orders that Trent hoped would be served before he could die from the acid in his belly. But before he could stare wistfully after the waitress with their food order, Millie pulled him back into their bubble again. Trent wasted no time in turning his head back, and to watch her expressions appreciatively, feeling again all sorts of affections his soul could conjure in reaction to her.

"There was a woman on the train with a kitten that reminded me of Lucius." He started, smiling at the memory of it. "I mean, it wasn't that he looked like Lucius. It just reminded me of him as a baby." His eyes twinkled in nostalgic affection. "How is he anyway? I miss him!" Of course, Trent had to start the conversation with the cat. "Still fluffy, I suppose?" Said rhetorically and lovingly. "And a bunch of girls boarded the train at ... I can't remember which station, and they were scary! They had red skin all over them." He looked horrified as he went on. "And they sat themselves around me!" He shook his head. "They were talking about some party. I dunno. I just, I was ... I dunno what they had, red and all. Do you think it's a new itch?" Trent asked earnestly, genuinely worried about what he didn't know was failed attempts with fake tans. "I mean, green was horrible. But looking all red is horrible too!" The boy blinked, then continued to shake his head, still worried.

"There you go!" It was almost announced in a sing-song voice. Trent jolted from his thoughts, only to see that two glasses of beer have been set down for them. He turned with the intention to mutter his thanks, only to see that the waitress had zipped off again. Looking at Millie now, the boy reached for a glass and raised one slightly, taking in the first couple of quick gulps after he felt her glass clink against his. The refreshing taste of chilled beer caressed his tongue, his throat, and plunged straight to his stomach. Please, Trent made a satisfying "ahhh ..." before he set the glass back down again, leaned back in his seat in a more comfortable position, and continued. "I haven't seen Elliot. What's he up to? Sarah? Or something else for a change?" Anything to avoid talking about himself, or worse, his family. Trent smiled.

There was something idyllic about the little village she’d found. It was one of those little nooks in the corner of the country that people had forgotten about or didn’t know about to begin with. It was because of this that the small town was governed by what its people wanted and by what money was in circulation for corrupt hands. There was nothing sinister about the village, though. In fact it was very open and very blissful and it was because of this that they’d won the ‘Best Village’ award for the South three years running. They merely embraced their populous, left tourists desperate to return and allowed people to act as they pleased within reason. Everyone had equal opportunity and crime was at an all time low, allowing the police force to snooze away their lunch breaks and for the riot gear to collect dust and become the playground for spiders. It really was an idyllic little town but not without its demons. No, even it was blighted by scandal though there was far less of it and, most certainly, far less of it reported than people would assume.

Sitting on the bench outside the pub, Millie felt her muscles relax and her skin grow warm under the kiss of the sunshine above. Reaching into the back pocket of her shorts, she removed some filter paper and a packet of Golden Virginia tobacco. She had an assortment of other things as a result of nearly buying out the corner shop’s supplies which would allow her to roll her cigarettes. She’d not accounted for the amount she’d gotten into the habit of smoking or the fact that the shop did not sell the Marlboros she preferred. She looked down at the assortment of things before her and pursed her lips momentarily before reaching for a piece of filter paper which, admittedly, was a bit scraggily looking but after a few folds she got it back to looking presentable and then began to fiddle with the bits of paper and tobacco, not entirely sure whether this was going to be a successful roll or not. She doubted it.

Millie looked up at Trent, her concentration breaking once she’d finally managed to get the right amount of tobacco into the filter paper. She smiled a little and found herself laughing, imagining a kitten that was somewhat-but-not-really-like Lucius. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulder’s minutely. “I dunno, he’s here. He came too. He fancied the walk, I suppose. He keeps catching birds though, the little bugger. It’s driving me barmy. I swear; the back garden is going to be like some sort of Indian bloody burial ground once he’s done. I don’t know why I even brought him. He’s a nightmare. Ah well. He’ll be happier now you’re here, that’s for sure. Me too, actually. I’ve missed you, Trent.”

Millie grinned impishly at Trent. “Girls eh?” She licked the filter paper and smoothed it down. “Aren’t you a lucky boy?” Millie put the cigarette between her lips. “Got a light? I think I might’ve left mine somewhere.”

When the waitress came over and set the drinks down, Millie barely managed a quirk of her lips in the girl’s direction before she disappeared back into the pub. Millie shook her head and pushed a pesky lock of hair out of her eyes before looking back at Trent.

“Ell? Sarah most likely, yeah. I dunno. It’s not as if I make an effort to talk to him. He and I had a row before I left, anyway. Still, I suppose we could make up before we go back to school. Blimey, though. I’m starved. When’s that food getting here?”

Trent rarely went on holidays. In fact, he never left the British Isles before. Back in the days when Dean and Demelza were still a fairly happy couple, the boy was taken on trips to places like Southampton, Bath, Stratford, Dublin, and even to Edinburgh. While all of them would have been nothing but a hazy memory to the boy now, little did the estranged couple know that Trent had kept all of the pictures taken during the happier times. He might have appeared consistently nonchalant about all things family. Yet, there was a box under his bed with the happy faces of the Thomas family. Almost all the time, too, Trent was sat on the save shoulders of his father, clutching Dean's ears with a wide grin. Trent was tiny, then. And Dean was his superhero father. Almost in all the photos, too, Demelza stood close to her husband and son, fixing an adoring gaze at them. Now, though, the pictures seem to stare at Trent with promised gloom awaiting, as the three would wave at him through the frame of the few pictures left of the intact Thomas family, now desecrated to the boy whose life was torn apart by the choices of his parents.

Trent smiled at Millie, cheered by both the prospect of the beginning of a holiday, now with her, and by the fact that it provided him with a brief escape from the gloom at home. He wondered if Dean had gotten his note a couple of days ago, then decided that his father wouldn't notice anyway. The boy shrugged, almost as if he was suddenly embarrassed by Millie's admission, before he nodded and returned his gaze to her. "I've missed you too, Mophead." He shrugged again. "It's just never the same without you." Quickly, as if he had to recover from his confession, Trent looked intently at his hands. Fortunately, Millie continued to speak.

"Wha-?" He shook his head violently. "No, I didn't mean that. Not-" He huffed, almost as if he gave up already. "It didn't matter if they were girls ..." Of course he didn't have to explain any of this. The problem was, he was sensitive about it, what with an obsession with the girl that he couldn't bear to have it tainted. Then again, there was Gis- ... Trent blinked, mortified at where his train of thought had brought him to. Remorse flooded him. How could he have done it? Funny how he could almost forget it happened, until now. The boy felt the empty space of his stomach align itself with the hollow feel of his heart. Of course, Millie hadn't explicitly expected anything from him. After all, they were just friends, weren't they? But even he knew they were not just that. He was very confused whenever he let his thoughts dwell on matters of Millie. Yet, it was always during these dwellings that he could even feel something, anything, especially since he had been deceptively rendered numb by the state of his family.

Trent nodded. "I've been using matches, though. Lighters cost a bit more." He shrugged, then brought another one of his stolen matchboxes out of his pocket. With a nod and a smirk in response to yet another day in the life of Millie and Elliot, Trent made to light a matchstick. As soon as it was lit, though, the waitress returned with two rather massive plates. Distracted by the presence of food, the boy quickly blew the flame off without much thought, before lifting his hands away from the table to make space for them to be set down upon. This time, he could mutter his thanks quick enough before Emma turned and walk swiftly to a table who was waving for her attention.

"Thank Merlin!" And with that, Trent grabbed almost half a dozen of chips from his plate and stuffed them all at once into his mouth. Sure, that made it slightly difficult for him to chew, but he managed to do so with half of the chips in, and half out of, his mouth. All he needed was to speed it up to get them down into the abyss of his belly, as soon as they can.

The sunshine was glorious on the back of Millie’s neck, warming her skin and leaving her feeling a lot happier than she had been in quite a long while. The presence of Trent was also infinitely reassuring for her and it was with him that she allowed herself to put to the back of her mind, what she knew to be going on at home. Seamus had never really recovered from being served divorce papers even though he, really, should have been the one to divorce Lavender. He was afflicted with unrequited love, however, and so as a result he’d seemed to fall into a rather deep depression that even his children could not rouse him from. He coped with food and extraordinary amounts of alcohol, the latter of which Millie tried her best to watch over.

The three of them now basically lived on take-aways, the result of losing the only person that could cook. Millie could only just manage to coax the microwave into working so that wasn’t going to do. Since they’d been back they’d been alternating between shops down on the waterfront and Millie didn’t know how much more she could take of fast food. Yet, she also knew what Elliot was like. He would leave for the remaining two weeks if it got too much for him. He’d bunk up with Spencer and Millie wouldn’t see him until she herself got home and honestly, that was the last thing she wanted. She wanted the family to stay together. Lavender, she didn’t mind too much about. Elliot, though...whether she liked it or not, he still mattered to her.

Banishing the thoughts, Millie looked at Trent, quirking an eyebrow upwards at his floundering. She laughed a little and took the cigarette from between her lips. “I’m kidding, babe.” She assured him. “I’m just playing with you. Chill. It’s no wonder they’d want to sit with you Trent. I mean, look at you. There’s not a lot wrong with you, my son.” Millie laughed again and perked up when he produced the matches, pressing forward with the cigarette just as he shook out the flame. Pursing her lips she tucked the cigarette behind her ear and thanked the waitress for their meals, picking up and immediately unravelling the cutlery that was placed down next to their plates. Then, Millie finally reacted to the lighter comment. “Jesus Christ, Trent. Lighters aren’t that expensive. What kind are you buying? Jesus.”

And then Millie lapsed into silence, focused on her food having not realised just how hungry she was, let alone Trent. The pair were silent for much of the meal, both focused on how tasty it actually was, and Millie only spoke once she’d placed her knife and fork together and set about picking the cucumber out of the salad they had put with the fish and chips. “It’s due to rain later on,” she told him after swallowing and taking a swig of her beer. “I was thinking maybe we could go back to the house, get your stuff unpacked, have a shower or a bath or whatever floats your boat and then watch some films. It’s going to chuck it down in an hour or so, so if we pay in a minute and get the bikes, hopefully we’ll make it back.”

They didn’t. Don’t even think about hoping they did. They didn’t. They reached the station in the dry and managed to get the bicycles but once they were back on the main road, it lashed it down.

Once the door was open, Millie threw herself inside, tugging Trent in and slamming the door shut behind him. She pressed her back against it and then, for some inexplicable reason, began to laugh between sniffles and drips of water from her hair onto her face. Her hands found the button of her shorts and she hastily tugged at them, desperate to get them off before the denim stuck to her legs and left her permanently stuck in them. Having kicked them away, she was left in her spotty pants. She then kicked off her shoes, reaching down to pick up her shorts as she did so, and set about freeing herself from the slightly snug top she’d shrugged on that morning. Millie then disappeared into the kitchen, dumping the clothes in the hamper, before returning, looking pitifully at a very, very soggy Trent.

“Oh Merlin,” she murmured with a slight laugh. “Look at you. Get these off!” Millie pulled at his shirt, tugging it upwards. “It’s just me Trent. Don’t be a wimp. You’ll catch your death of cold. Off!” Millie backed off after that and gestured towards the stairs. “I’ll go and run a bath shall I?” She asked rhetorically before heading for the stairs, jumping two at a time to the upper level of the house to the bathroom where she went to do just that.

Trent finally drew back and a long, loud, and satisfied burp. It was only after he let it all out in one full note of glory that he actually looked at Millie unabashedly, gigglingchuckling at his deliberate barbaric attempt. He had, however, left his two plates of Fish & Chips, one of which was ordered after the unsatisfactory portion of the first, in almost deceptively pristine condition, having wiped out everything from both plates. The boy was also on his second glass of beer. Trent licked his lips and tasted the bit of salt, fish, and sauce, that had strayed from his mouth. He nodded at Millie and looked at the skies, where dark clouds had replaced the earlier sunshine in too quick a fashion. Some things never change, he thought, accustomed to the weather like everyone else who has lived in England long enough was. And as Millie's laughter rang in his ears, he was glad that they didn't. There were too many unpleasant changes in his life, already. Then again, was this, too, going to change after what he did with Gisele? Trent stared solemnly at the amber-gold colour of his beer, before lifting the glass up to his lips again, feeling all the remorse of a sinner. He couldn't, mustn't lose this too.

Trent actually felt good about the rain. The beat of raindrops against his back, his bare neck, and into his hair, all of which was ironically refreshing. Then, he remembered. He hadn't showered. In fact, the last time he had remembered to clean himself was a couple of days ago. How could he forget something like that? The boy grinned in amusement at himself. That was possibly why the rain felt good, then. It was as if his body finally got its luxury of water, against his nature. Trent cycled happily in the rain, chasing after Millie, who was surprisingly fast on her bicycle. He stopped as abruptly as her outside the door of a rather quaint-looking house. Well, it was not exactly unusual from the outside, given that it looked like any one of the houses in its row. However, upon stepping in, there was a charming quality about the house that wasn't typical of most houses. Given that, to the boy, most houses meant a lack of maintenance and a resulting lack of cosiness, this was quaint alright.

Trent took a sniff of the air in the house, and smiled. This was going to be home for a week and more, and he liked it already. The boy's appreciation was pulled to a stop, however, as soon as he took notice of Millie. Trent stood, near the door, baffled by her actions. Of course he knew why she was ridding her clothes. He just never expected to find himself in this disposition so soon. It was like the time, a long time ago, back at his house, finding himself with a very naked Millie in his bathroom. There was only one way to describe his state of mind to both counts of such an incidence - at a loss. When the girl disappeared into the kitchen, Trent began to breathe again, thankful that she did. That is, until she quickly returned to his periphery. He sucked in the air at her return, then shot his eyes to the ground. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her this way before, and more than once at that. He was strange.

Try as he might, Trent was not left alone. No sooner had he averted his eyes did he feel a strong pull at his shirt. He didn't fight it, either, afraid of where he might hit or what he might brush against, in an accidental fight. It was only when Millie disappeared up the stairs that Trent hastily took his shirt off, staring at the empty space of the steps as he did so. Then, in a similarly swift action, he reached and undid his belt, taking off his shorts once it was undone. Uncertain, he made his way to the kitchen and dropped his clothes into the hamper. Then, still in his boxers and socks, he began to make his way tentatively up the stairs to the second floor. The sound of running water was his call. In no time, Trent found himself in the same room as Millie, still attempting to avert his eyes to what he clearly wanted to see, but didn't dare to. The boy simply stood next to the door of the bathroom, not making a sound.