221B

Spoiler:

La foi transporte des montagnes.

Another day of dealing with the ginger healer had Bentley desperate for news of the end. For news that the law would be repealed. Red had moved in a couple days ago, and had barely given Ben any peace, with her grumpiness and apparent need to bother him any chance she got. Whether or not she truly was after a shot at ruining his day, Bentley was personally convinced that Rose had little else to amuse herself with. In truth, his favorite part of the day was when he left for work. He had gone in, regardless of it being a weekend, just to feel like he could breathe again. Even when he returned, he would often remain downstairs, chatting with the landlady. Sometimes Mrs. Hudson made comments about not believing that he had accepted Rose as his.

She wasn’t his. She had no desire to be his. Even if she did want to be, she never could.

It was perhaps lucky for Rose that she didn’t want to be. It would’ve involved shitty dinners with their parents, with shitty conversation as they tried to get along. She probably would’ve been sat wondering what she could’ve done, would’ve had to wonder if she were attractive enough.

Smart, a voice that sounded rather like Baldric cut in.

If she were smart enough. Because no one else was. And no one ever would be.

Rose said something from the kitchen but he ignored it, just vaguely nodding before she switched off the light and headed towards the spare that had become her room over the past week. As Bentley turned and made his way to his own bedroom, he couldn’t help but register the fact that it had been only a little over forty-eight hours. Yet there he was already feeling lost. He had lived with Baldric for upwards of five months, and it felt incredibly strange to not have his things on the coffee table or to hear him talk about lessons from that day.

Flipping the light switch in the main room, Bentley frowned and made his way down the hall to his room. It was slightly lucky, he decided, that the spare room was on the other side of the flat; he could very well hide away in there in the mornings and Rose would think he had gone off to work, or that he had slept late. After his generic routine of getting ready for bed, Ben fell back onto his pillow and huffed.

If he hadn’t been so worried about his parents and about his career, not to mention the threat of Azkaban for himself and Baldric, Ben might have gone along with the idea of running off. But they hadn’t had a real choice. Reaching over to the bedside table, he picked up the day’s Prophet and hoped for some sign of things changing.

Every time the second hand passed the four, it lost a beat and when the next one came, it doubled up on itself. Twenty times, Baldric watched as the second hand lost its beat and added an extra upon the following one to compensate. He watched as his cigarette burned orange to ash. He watched as his coffee grew cold. He watched wondering where his Ben was. He watched considering not for the first time that, despite Ben’s assurances, the Ministry really had been right in their choosing of Rose Weasley, that perhaps at that very moment they were delighting in each other in ways that he and Ben never had. Perhaps, given the proper amount of time, they’d have a child, be a Ministry success, and it would be ginger with freckles and Ben’s eyes and his smile. Baldric brought the cigarette back to his lips. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Tick, tick, tick … tick-tick.

The house that Millie’s husband had grown up in was a little too nice for Baldric’s tastes, Baldric who had grown up, himself, in a converted farmhouse, a man who didn’t mind sleeping on sofas or in the most cramped of compartments. He’d done homes. He was grateful for this one but it wasn’t his. His home was with Ben, curled up on the sofa watching crap television that neither of them were particularly interested in but put up with anyway because it was far too early to abandon their clothes and head to bed. His home was anywhere Ben was. This one was someone else’s, the way Bridget liked it and the way Elliot liked to keep his little areas where his photographs had been put up, where his books had been placed and where, occasionally, an odd sock could be found lurking in a corner. Despite the sudden influx of teenage hormones, it didn’t belong to them. They were still being put up to no end. Baldric hated feeling so destitute, so totally unable to stand on his own two feet. He wanted his autonomy back. No, scratch that, he just wanted Ben back. He’d happily be a kept man if it meant he could just have Ben.

Someone from upstairs called down to him, most probably Nessa, but between the footsteps, shouts and running bathwater, Baldric couldn’t quite distinguish who it was. He got up from the kitchen island, dropping his cigarette in the coffee. The sound was of the fizzing heat of the ash as it met the cool, in fact stone cold, surface of the drink. He knew, in the back of his head, that someone – though whether it would be Bridget or Elliot he didn’t know – would have his hide for smoking inside but he couldn’t bear to move long enough or quick enough to get out into the warm summer air. When the need for nicotine struck him he reached into his pocket, rolled and lit what he’d made. He lost the taste for it, though. Sat at the island, nursing the coffee cup that had bright lettering announcing a summer fete of three years ago on the side, was nothing like being sat on the kitchen counter, his legs curled under him, watching attentively as Ben made supper for them, both having grown bored with the telly and hungry after seeing an ad for steak – but sandwiches would do.

Placing his hand on the banister, Baldric began to climb the stairs but he halted half way up, pausing and turning, looking absently at the front door and his jacket hanging on the hook by the side of it. He bit his lip and glanced at the grandfather clock on the landing clanging away merrily to itself. He then looked down at his own watch before turning and jumping down the steps to the door. He shoved his feet into the flip flops that he’d been given by one of the other students who’d bought a pack of two simply because it was cheaper than buying one. He’d taken to wearing shorts again in the hotter weather, grateful for the breeze around his calves. Accompanying that was a casual t-shirt but once he donned his jacket, feeling for his keys in the pocket, he knew that what he had to do was a no brainer.

With a crack, Baldric apparated.

There were no Muggles around and Baldric was exponentially thankful for it. He fumbled with the keys in the low light of the hallway and smothered his sound as he slid the brass key Ben had given him into the lock. Holding onto the handle, Baldric carefully turned the key until he heard the last pin give out. Swallowing, Baldric twisted the handle and pushed open the door, finding the flat exactly where he left it only with some rather disheartening changes. There were a few boxes, presumably Rose’s, dotted about and somehow, on the sideboard she’d managed to get up one of her family photos. As Baldric passed, a gush of wind just happened to conveniently knock it over. Or, at least, that’s what he’d tell himself. Under no uncertain terms would he be so petty, would he? Oh yes. It’d been two days, near as damn it. That was about as long as he could go.

His feet could retrace the steps from the front door to their bedroom without his brain so much as giving the order. They could do it without thought, literally. After bringing the door quietly to a close, Baldric broke off, scampering as quickly as possible over the soft carpet. He’d missed out on Mrs Hudson, a fact which he was glad of for he was doubtful he could put up with her mithering at this moment in time. He needed his lover. He needed to know that Ben was there that it wasn’t exactly as Baldric’s mind had been telling him it was. There was no success story. There was no real marriage. There would be no children. Bentley was still his. He needed to know that.

Opening the door to their bedroom, Baldric braced himself, terrified of what he’d find. But there he was. Ben, as though Baldric had just popped out to the off-licence for a bottle of wine and a packet of tobacco. Ben, as though they hadn’t had to find all of Baldric’s things out from where they’d made camp in the drawers, on the bedside table, on hooks behind doors, in the bathroom cabinet. Ben, as though Baldric hadn’t had to leave. Ben, as though there wasn’t some redheaded Weasley bitch in the other room with a mind to make the marriage work. Ben. His Ben. Baldric’s. Just as Baldric was his.

Baldric ripped off his jacket, chucking it to the floor on top of the flip flops he’d abandoned after shutting the door. The sound of the keys crunching together was one he ignored because before he knew what was happening he was on the bed, clasping Ben’s face between his hands and inviting him into a searing kiss that took the stuffing out of Baldric but at the same time gave him all of the air he needed to breathe. With one hand he reached down, grabbing the Daily Prophet and tossing it with a fluttering of paper across the room while the other curled around the nape of Ben’s neck, forcing him closer, faster as Baldric’s tongue plundered his mouth, inviting its partner into their familiar dance. Dropping his hands, Baldric tugged at Ben’s t-shirt, ripping it up over his head before breaking their kiss to trail his mouth across Ben’s jaw, his chin, neck, chest, stomach. Everywhere. Like a starved, parched man finally getting hold of a canister of water and a loaf of bread Baldric gorged himself, unable to stop, his hands sliding under the waistband of Ben’s trousers before trailing back up again only to return.

Breathlessness won out in the end, battling against Baldric’s fervour and his eager venture. Gasping out for air, Bae rested his head against Ben’s chest his hands resting on the elder man’s waist as he fought to regain his countenance, his breath and his sense of what on earth had just happened. Somewhere between getting there and this point, Baldric had taken ‘jumping your bones’ to a completely new level. He lifted his head, pressing intermitted kisses to Ben’s skin along the way as he inclined his chin up to meet the brunette’s lips, stealing one, two, three, four, five-six kisses before letting his head fall to Ben’s shoulder, managing to meet out a “sorry” in between his useless wrangling for air. He laughed despite himself and popped a kiss onto Ben’s shoulder, as though making up for accidently leaving that part of his body out, perhaps, though he was sure he hadn’t.

“God, Ben…” he lifted his head, curling his fingers briefly through the front of his hair. It was long now. He’d have to ask Bridget if she would cut it for him. “I love you. So bloody much. I’ve gone mad without you.”

“Baldric-“

The gasp left him, barely audible due to his surprise and the fact that any air his lungs had possessed was sent away the moment he caught sight of his Gryffindor. The word came out like a whisper, as if he couldn’t get enough air to push it out properly, but he just couldn’t not say it. He hadn’t been allowed to actually speak that name since Baldric had left. Unless the elder man had inexplicably mumbled it, or let it escape while asleep, that name hadn’t rolled off his tongue in about two days.

He had heard the door open, had let the paper fall into his lap as he sat up. It wasn’t until Rick’s lips meshed with his that Bentley realized he was really and truly awake, and that he wasn’t about to blink and find that the blonde wasn’t there. He let his eyes close in response to Baldric’s searching touches, Ben’s own hands gripping at the Gryffindor’s waist and pulling him in closer. Bentley’s shirt was stolen from him, but he didn’t even bother voicing a complaint; indeed, no sound escaped until he tilted his head to the side in an attempt to steal another kiss but came up empty. Instead, he found himself leaning back against the headboard as his breaths came in gasps, only half registering that he should have reacted more properly to his old flatmate barging in without question. He didn’t exactly mind, though, if his fingers grasping the sheets were any indication. It was all he could do not to stop Baldric and just cling to him.

When Baldric’s breathing slowed, Ben’s fingers slid over the other man’s shoulder and into his hair, reluctant to let him pull away, even if it was to speak and properly catch his breath. He reveled silently in the blonde’s words, inhaling deeply, and watched the hand that pushed through Baldric’s hair. His own hand abandoned Rick’s neck and followed the path drawn by his lover. As he did so, his eyes tried to memorize the face in front of him as it was then: open, seemingly filled with relief.

Suddenly, Ben’s face fell. A look of slight confusion followed by worry danced over his face before he blinked and tried to set it back to one that showed how very much he wished Baldric was still living with him. It actually hurt to realize that Rose was down the hall and in the extra bedroom – the one Baldric was meant to have slept in originally, but had never touched. Ben’s gaze darted to the door for a moment before returning to meet the other man’s once again.

“Bae- love, I-“ Ben shook his head a couple times before pausing and starting over. “I missed you so much. But are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, Red is just down the hall.”

Hypocrite that he was, though, Bentley gave only a breath of silence before using the hand still settled on Baldric’s neck to pull him in for another lingering kiss. He shifted slightly so that the younger man was settled in his lap, one knee on either side of Ben’s hips; his free hand, in the same moment, fell to grasp at the fabric of Rick’s shirt that covered his tattoo. Bentley was practically desperate to shuck the Gryffindor’s shirt in the same manner his had gone, but he knew full well where they would end up if he did.

The one thing that had made those first handful of days impossible was that every time Baldric opened his eyes with the warm, summer morning light streaming in through the windows was that he knew that he was alone. Even on those mornings when Bentley had gone into work early and Baldric woke up without him, knowing that he’d been there only hours before was what mattered. Waking up in the narrow bed not quite long enough for his long, gangly legs, was a nightmare – so much so that beyond a handful of hours he’d be up, shoving a jumper on and he’d sit out in the cool Irish night-cum-morning, waiting for the eventual company of Elliot who seemed to have worked out Baldric’s predicament quite quickly and his own insomnia sufficed to make him quite the companion for the younger man. He was no fool, though. Even as those thoughts raced through his head, the optimistic part of him yearning to stay, wondering if he’d be allowed, if maybe he could sneak out before the Weasley woman woke up… he knew he wouldn’t. He knew that he’d come, have his fill of Bentley and he’d have to leave again. He wasn’t entirely sure who was using who in that sense but he felt a burning resentment fire up within him, though to whom it was directed, he had no clue. Perhaps, solely, to himself.

At Bentley’s words, Baldric knew his anxiety, his fear, was not unfounded. He would have been a liar if he’d claimed he hadn’t been expecting the utterance. No, he’d waited for it, pressing on with his rediscovery of his lover’s body in the hope that maybe he could convince Ben to forget for a moment. To no avail. Baldric sighed before whining pitifully as their hips met flush together. Another sigh broached his lips and he leant his head down against Ben’s shoulder, the lust evaporating from him, leaving him with that hollow feeling that had kept him awake and irritable while in the company of people that didn’t deserve his ire. He knew for certain that at this point in time Ben didn’t deserve it either but Baldric wanted to argue, he wanted to scream and shout, cry and all the rest of it. He wanted Ben to know how much it was killing him – as though it wasn’t a mutual feeling. Then, he wanted to perhaps go and take everything out on his father, too, and perhaps if he wished hard enough, his mother would be well enough to shout at him also. Unlikely. Just as it was unlikely that he’d take all of his anger and foist it upon Ben. There was no need for it. Yet, in being so utterly rejected, because that was all it was, and then to be brought in again as though he was some sort of pliable sexual yo-yo, Baldric didn’t see a lot wrong in his anger.

“Yeah, well…” Baldric started as lamely as he ended, sighing again before dislodging himself from Bentley’s lap. He flopped down next to the elder man, curling an arm behind his head as seeds of regret sprang into his stomach. He rubbed his other hand across his face and licked his lips absently, savouring the taste of Ben there but also trying to get rid of it, for the sake of focus in his head. It had been sweet. It was, is, sweet. But they’d made their beds, hadn’t they? This was what they were confined to. Baldric was as much to blame as he didn’t but was blaming Ben. It was natural, borne out of his frustration and the need to place it on someone, the desire to find a scapegoat, a reason, anything to make it hurt less. He wasn’t going to find it in sex though, either. He wasn’t going to find it in these rooms. No one was to blame really – apart from maybe the Ministry – but it didn’t let up the misery.

“I should go, really,” Baldric muttered, lifting his arm. “I don’t even…” he sucked his lip between his teeth, determined to finish his sentence, “I don’t even know why I’m here,” he said finally. “It was stupid.”

Ben stared at the spot on his legs that Baldric had abandoned, expression blank and bland. The weight of it all settled on his shoulders and he suddenly felt weary and just plain exhausted. His gaze nearly jumped to the younger man where he was splayed across the bed, but Bentley suddenly felt scalded. It was his own fault, though, for having mentioned the girl. Even so, Ben had hoped his words would be ignored. That they would be taken as what they were: A statement that had to be said, even if it were ignored.

He knew by now that of the pair of them, Baldric was the one more likely to make a fuss over words – or lack thereof. Groaning, he leaned forward over his knees, and let his fingers wrap around the back of his neck. The Gryffindor had only just shown up, and Bentley was fairly certain that if Baldric left, he would end up staring at the ceiling all night regretting his words even more than he already did.

“It wasn’t stupid.” He asserted, closing his eyes. “Rather, you weren’t. I’m the one who went and said something. Just-… just don’t leave. We can bar the damn door or put up a ward or something, and if-“

He stopped himself before he could add if she finds out, I don’t care. Clearing his throat, Bentley decided that bringing her up again would only make the blonde leave sooner. “I meant to say: if you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But I wish you would.” He looked up then, turning to face Baldric more properly. “I don’t know… how to get through this without you. I promised that she would change nothing. Don’t make me go back on that.”

His fingers toyed with the sheets between himself and his lover, eyes focused on the fabric rather than the other man. When had he become the one concerned with feelings and promises? Ben had never been that way - not until that past Christmas. Maybe Baldric had been right all along: this -- them -- … it wasn’t enough.

“It was meant to be obscenely romantic,” Baldric pointed out with a wry chuckle, peeking out from behind his arm at his lover whose expression waxed melancholy, a direct result of Baldric’s dark mood. “It was meant to be Romeo and Juliet style featuring Rapunzel but there’s not enough ivy on the side of this building and I’d fall off and die. Plus, your hair isn’t nearly long enough or blonde enough for you to be Rapunzel so we live in this odd world where the fairy tales don’t quite work out the way we imagine.”

Sucking in a breath, Baldric realised he double-entendre of his statement. He winced and got up, moving before Bentley, taking up his hands with his own. Baldric placed a kiss on his lover’s knuckles and his fingers slowly began to comb across the elder man’s skin as he tried to figure out a way to salvage what he’d said. He hadn’t meant it quite the way it had come out.

“It … I didn’t mean it like that,” Baldric amended lamely, dropping his gaze. “But I hate being here knowing this is not my home. I mean, what the hell did I contribute, right, but this … with you is home and if you don’t know how to do this then I am certainly buggered because I can’t sit in that house, nice as it is, and pretend I give a toss about anything that goes on. I don’t. All I want is to be here because you’re all I bloody care about and knowing that I can’t be is…” Baldric swallowed, resolved. “I’m not going to be make you go back on anything.”

Everything, if you wanted it bad enough, would work out – it had to. Baldric didn’t know how long they’d last. All he knew was that in these moments and for the immediate foreseeable future he needed Bentley and he was prepared to move man and mountain to get him. But, at the same time, Baldric didn’t think he was man enough himself to do that. Neither of them were really otherwise they would have been somewhere completely obscure by now hiding out from the Ministry. It didn’t matter, though, really. It would all come out in the wash, as his mother would say. It’d be alright in the end. But for now? He had no idea.

“Jesus,” Baldric murmured, laying back down again. He extended his arm out to Bentley. “C’mere. I’m sorry. I love you, alright? I just… I’m so pissed off all the time now and it’s only been a few days. I just don’t know how long I can put up with this. I know it’s worth it in the end but I just want to skip to the end already, y’know? I can’t put up with all of this in between stuff and I’m worried about work and exams and my mum and … it’s all just beginning to get to me and I sound ridiculous… agh…” Baldric ran a hand over his face. Maybe we need to have a sabbatical in Outer Mongolia or somewhere. Or barricade the door and hide. I’m open to either.” He leaned in and kissed the top of Ben’s head, content for the minute. Content to stay there forever, in fact.

Bentley’s eyes closed in response to Baldric’s words, trying to block out what they implied. As hands clasped his, however, he forced himself to look at the man sitting before him. That’s what Baldric was, after all. He was no longer some student or other who Bentley had no reason to be interested in. No, indeed, this man was everything. He was practically the only thing that mattered in that moment – or any moment, really. Even as the younger man corrected himself, Ben was already trying to find a way to salvage the situation. To make his Gryffindor stay.

“Don’t concern yourself with rooms or walls,” He started softly, having given a moment of pause to show his attention to Bae’s words. “A building – a roof… Those aren’t the makings of a home, Bae. Home is just where you want to be. It’s something that once you leave, or it leaves you, you just miss it.”

Shaking his head, he considered his next phrasing carefully before continuing. “This flat isn’t a home for me, either, you know. My parents – well, they’re only recently mine, though I’m not sure I mentioned that. Yes, they are important to me, and yes, I’m desperate to keep them for as long as I can. But Baldric-“ He paused, shifting so he could grasp the blonde’s arms and brush his thumbs over the skin here, “-Baldric, you are that thing I miss when I don’t have it. You’re where I want to be – regardless of location or building or weather or any other bloody thing that might concern people. I could care less about those things. This flat is nothing, Bae. …It’s nothing, because the only thing that could ever mean everything is you.”

His eyes followed the other man as he leaned back once more, beckoning Bentley to join him. He hesitated only a moment before lying on his side and propping his head upon his palm. “Everything seems longer in the moment, love,” he murmured, though he heartily agreed with the sentiment that Baldric professed. Flopping onto his back, Ben watched the ceiling for a few moments, considering the suggestions and silently accepting the kiss pressed to his head.

“That’s really not a horrible idea…” He started finally, turning his head to look at Baldric. “The, uh- the going away idea. No one at work gives a damn if I’m there or not. If they did, they wouldn’t say anything anyway. And Red- well, I can write a note, say I’m going on a trip for business.” Sitting up again, he turned to look at Baldric with the most serious expression he could manage. “I mean it, Bae. We could do this. Regularly. She doesn’t know what I do at work – no one is going to question you if you aren’t at Keiran’s over the weekend.”

Leaning over, Ben swept his hand under Baldric’s shirt, splaying his fingers out over the younger man’s side. “Say yes, Bae. We could go every other week. Every week. Or whenever you want to.” Ben’s lips brushed across the juncture of Baldric’s jaw and neck, “Go away with me.”

Run my baby, run…

Always, he’d been better at that than anything else. The thud of his feet on hard track, cutting gravel of soft, caressing grass always took him to his destination, always by running. He’d been good at that. He’d become a man who’d made a career of sorts out of running away. When he’d been little, a babe in arms, his mother had clutched him to her chest and she’d staggered over the sloping hills surrounding their home like silent guards. She’d tumble in the long grass, laughing into his hair as she fell and once he was tall enough, big enough, steady enough to himself run with her they’d dance together, run at the breeze and get swept off of their feet by it. A care wasn’t given by either until finally she grew swollen with child, a playmate for him. It was then that Oliver would stand at the edge of the garden, hands braced on the sagging fence, coaxing her in with a look, a broomstick gifted to his young son, a more efficient, proper distraction for nothing would come from whiling away days in fields.

Now, when he ran he ran to someone – he ran to Bentley. When he’d left home, he’d done so with only eighteen galleons in his pocket and he’d gotten no farther than the Leaky Cauldron. It was then that he’d given himself up to a stranger, someone who had, as drunkenly as he had, promised he was not an axe murderer. It seemed then that every time he ran he ran to Bentley. Then, when he arrived, he knew he was safe. When familiar skin, familiar lips, passed over him and under his fingertips he knew that there he could hide, there he could stop running, at least for a moment. With the smell of them surrounding him, on the sheets, on the very clothes that they wore, in their hair, in their very essence, he was dizzy but endlessly content – for he was home, regardless of whether it was a roof or whatever else made up the slightly pokey but endearing flat. He was where he wanted to be. That was home. Bentley was right. Too right.

Go away with me.

Baldric blinked deeply, staring intently at Bentley. He flinched a little as Ben’s hand tickled him and he smiled despite himself, his hand falling to his lover’s arm as his eyebrows furrowed a little, thought overcoming him. His other hand reached up, curling around Bentley’s shirt sleeve as he lifted himself into sitting. His mouth opened a little, his eyebrows parting and losing their intensity. Baldric smiled a little, his hand coming to curl around his lover’s cheek, disbelief riddled with poorly concealed jubilation striking at his face.

“You want to, really?” He whispered. “I mean, really? I, wow. Um.”

Without any more words finding his lips, Baldric crashed his mouth against Ben’s, sliding a searing kiss across the soft yet slightly chapped skin. After breaking away, Baldric still couldn’t grasp any words to him or let them into the air. He was incredulous, ridiculous, intoxicated with disbelieving happiness. They could go. They’d have to come back but they could go and for a while they could just be. With each other they could breathe, sans the difficulties that the Ministry thrust upon them. That was all he’d ever wanted.

“Where can we go? Can we…” Baldric found himself laughing, despite everything he was laughing and another kiss went to Ben’s lips. “Merlin… can we maybe… have dinner with your parents? Like, I don’t know… I just…” Baldric sighed, his mouth curling at the sides. “Just, something normal… a bit normal, I mean, as normal as we can get. Like Christmas again. Could we… then…” Baldric bit his lip. “I kind of have something… somewhere in the back of my mind… I mean, like… someone you probably ought to meet. Could we..?”

Bentley almost took his words back then, in that pause between his asking and Baldric speaking in reply. In those moments, he was fairly convinced he had said the wrong thing. That he had mentioned something so ridiculous that the younger man was staring at him in pure shock. Bentley had never said anything so crazy. Never considered or actually tried anything like it. His own eyes widened slightly at the realization that he was entirely serious, but his main focus was on Baldric’s face as he sat up and offered Ben a look full of mixed emotions.

The words slipped from Baldric’s lips and Ben sucked in a breath. What did that mean? He didn’t have time to apologize or ask questions, though, because he was silenced almost immediately by the blonde in question. A smile broke out over Bentley’s face at the reaction.

When was the last time he had felt so… giddy? It made him feel like he was much younger than he truly was. Baldric started rambling and Ben just watched him, laughing along as he slipped his other hand under the other man’s shirt to match his action from earlier. His fingers ran back and forth from the center of Baldric’s back and around to his side, over and over in what he hoped was a soothing motion. “Bae-“ he started, repeating the name twice, almost inaudibly. He gave up quickly and let Baldric finish before nodding.

“Of course,” he agreed, “we can visit them. They wouldn’t mind. Nancy would actually love it, I think. They’d probably have us stay over, besides. But I did not think you quite expected me to… to meet anyone.”

The only person that came to mind, really, was the mother that Baldric had fairly off-handedly mentioned. There was no suitable reason for Bentley to meet the woman. Not really. It was all sorts of confusing and made little to no sense. What sort of intelligence was there in introducing Ben to someone who was ill and could well be on her way to another place? “I’m not sure you mean it.” He offered finally, a look of quiet despair clinging to his features. "But that's okay as well."

There was a creative side to Baldric that often wasn’t let go of and allowed to flourish. He was a keen painter though he dabbled in water colours, his time in the sailing club in his home village giving him an insatiable obsession with water and when not on it he adored to consider it in other ways. In his mind’s eye he often saw things a little differently than perhaps he should have, or would have been expected to as a Quidditch player – universally expected, as a result, to be rather more stupid than he took pains to prove otherwise. His lively eye for detail made him wonder after Bentley’s family home though his words which seemed only then to take effect computed with the fact that it wasn’t his home so much as Baldric had thought and there was something within him that wondered whether the image of an infant boy with a shock of brown hair and bright, cheerful eyes was a wrong one, especially in the setting he’d dreamt up for the man’s parents.

A reflexive fear settled in Baldric’s chest, too, when a little slither of rejection and then open incredulity lapped at the edge of Bentley’s words. Baldric froze, the warmth he’d felt replaced with a sudden alienation that he couldn’t come back from as quickly as he would have liked. He opened his mouth but few words bubbled in his throat, merely a strangled noise of hurt which he stifled by nipping his lips closed once more. Baldric brought his eyelids down over his pained, weary blue gaze and he brought a hand up to his forehead, trying to qualify and make sense of the reluctance in Bentley. He knew it came from him. Baldric would never be forthcoming when it came to his family; not properly at least. It was all wrong, after all. It had never not been wrong. In reflection there had always been something wrong with her just as there had always been something wrong with him and with his father. Freya had only ever been the one to see sense, to try and make the best of it but even she’d grown colder for it.

With a shake to his hand, one that he’d not realised he still harboured, Baldric brought it around Bentley’s cheek, his thumb scrolling across the elder man’s cheekbone as he fought to find his words – or at least, force them out into the open. Smudging his lips together, Baldric took a moment to think. Then another. Then another. Did he mean it, he wondered? Baldric was accustomed to actions dictating reality. When words were spoken they were abrupt, correct and solemn – in his house, that is. His father showed his anger in physicality. Never had he lashed out towards any of them but actions like burning the broomsticks was indicative of his rage. It was a trait that Freya had taken on but one that had skipped on Baldric. He believed in words and in the way they could promise just as much as an action could. When he spoke it was with that same solemn correctness but it was not abrupt. It was not unceremonious. He said it because he really thought it. So,

“Yes, I do mean it.”

He’d heard it once before, those exact words but in a different context. They’d been screamed down a flight of stairs by a rough and scratchy voice hardened by sobbing. He could remember a time when his mother had been stronger, when she’d still had fight in her that was against other people, not against her own body failing on her in such a dramatic and unforgivable way. Those afternoons dancing in the fields had meant to much to her. In a virile show of vehemence she’d spat that she hated his father with more courage than Baldric felt he could ever muster. With him clutched to her she darted up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, tripping in her skirt until she fell on the half landing, stumbling against the wall, hitting her head with a thud and collapsing, unable to hold herself anymore. Oliver’s returning accusation refuted her. It was then that she chose to speak, her scream terrifying Baldric, causing him to dispel his own tears, his own cries, his own fear. This was different, though. Blessedly, it was different.

“You don’t have to, though,” Baldric added as an afterthought, considering that Bentley might not want to, shoving away any hurt that sprang up at that thought.

With Bentley’s parents, Baldric could have his pretend. Nancy was naturally kind, went out of her way to make him feel comfortable and while Derek was cool towards him, he was never unpleasant and it was with them that he could pretend that there was nothing wrong that, perhaps like Bentley, it had always been like this and that there had never been a more painful alternative. His sister didn’t have that luxury though. She couldn’t bury her head like he did. Perhaps, braver than him, she didn’t want to, either. It wasn’t right, he knew, to hide from what was real and what was wrong but all-too real. He’d abandoned them all, ran off – ran away – to pursue this asinine life that he wasn’t even allowed to watch play out because damn it he was married and responsible for things that at nearly nineteen years of age he didn’t think he’d ever have to contend with. He wasn’t ready for it but it was time to try.

“I don’t want you to meet my dad,” Baldric muttered, pulling at a loose piece of thread at the hem of his shirt. “Or her,” Baldric closed his eyes, settling his hands on his knees. “But I need you-” Baldric sighed, stifling himself. “It’s not important, really,” he left it, wiping his hand through the air, ending the idea of it. “It was stupid to even…”

Laying back down again, Baldric rested his head against the pillows - one arm lifted behind his head. He knew that the impersonal sheets in his room at the Hayes house, shared with a handful of other Hogwarts dissidents he loathed mind you, was waiting for him. He half wanted to go there to hide, to perhaps make himself a cup of tea and perch himself in the corner of the living room near the window that, if he looked through, allowed him to see a particularly beautiful old tree in the grounds. There, while drinking the scalding brew he could think. Then maybe, just maybe, he’d be joined by a weary Elliot who seemed to sense the restlessness in the inhabitants in the house. With a cup of his own he’d sit down beside Baldric and sometimes they’d talk, sometimes they wouldn’t – most often of all they wouldn’t bother – Baldric was happy just to have someone there. Now, ashamed, he didn’t even want Elliot. He just wanted to hide. But he sobered himself anyway and found his words.

“When do you want to go over there, then?” He asked finally, raising a smile to his lips.