“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.”

Oliver lifted a shoulder as nonchalantly as he could manage, muttering a quiet, "Well it was you, so it's not exactly a hardship."

He offered a little smile over his shoulder, and made to continue his climb before she spoke, stopping his arm mid-reach. His brow furrowed as he looked at her again, sinking back down to that step next to her. "Um, I've got the one sister. Younger. Thalia. She's in Gryffindor, but it's her last year. But yeah, I've got a lot of cousins on Mom's side. Dad's not so much. Tal and I grew up being really close, even after I started at school, but it's been difficult lately." Oliver turned over the idea of explaining all of his family drama in his mind before lifting his gaze to meet hers and deciding that he could get away with it. If anyone was going to say anything about it or judge him because of it, that person wasn't Alice.

"It sounds bad, I'm sure, but I really get along with my family more easily when my writing is actually going well. But it's not, currently, so we aren't really in touch that often as of late. I guess it's just slightly disappointing when you aren't doing well but your folks are well off and all. Rather, you seem rather disappointing in comparison. Ariel and I don't really talk about it."

Of course, the other man knew about Oliver's habit of hiding away during his bad months, though no one from Oliver's family had dared to comment on it yet. He couldn't be sure if they had figured it out or if they just didn't want to be proven right when they asked. Oliver, though, realized how very much of himself was given away in that explanation, and started to wonder how he really sounded. For all he knew, Alice would think poorly of him for avoiding his family for something trivial like his writing. That is, Oliver didn't think it was trivial, but there were far worse things than not having written a third novel yet.

Instead of saying anything else about it, Oliver turned and began climbing, this time not turning around or pausing. By the end of their time there, Oliver still hadn't managed to ask about their sleeping arrangements, or whether he could actually start sleeping under the sheets as he had thus far refused to. Deciding that it really wasn't so very important, he had pushed it off to instead ask other things that, in truth, were rather pointless, but as a whole gave him a bit more insight into who she was.

After turning in their gear, he held out a hand towards Alice, preparing to apparate them away. He paused, though, considering that if they were going to make an evening of it, they might as well eat something other than whatever was left in the fridge. After all, Saturday mornings had become his time to go out shopping for groceries and the rest provided it hadn't been done during the week , if only so that he wouldn't be in the house when Ariel and Alice woke. After dealing with Alice that last Friday night, though, he hadn't had time. Thus, they were running low on too many things to make any semblance of a nice dinner.

"So, would you want to pick up something on the way home?" Oliver asked. It registered belatedly that, yes, the flat was sort of Alice's home now, if she chose to think of it that way. It did not, however, mean that the pair of them were anything at all, and he reminded himself of that bit of information before offering a friendly smile as a show of being relaxed.

It seemed strange to Alice that of all the places to start to really talk and share things, they’d chosen to scale a wall before doing so. She readjusted herself as she listened to him, wondering idly whether Ollie’s sister looked like him at all or whether they were like night and day to each other. She imagined they probably looked alike – perhaps not conventionally but in manner, perhaps, and maybe in the way they conducted themselves. She felt her smile slip off of her face though when Ollie admitted he’d not seen them. But then, she supposed, she had not spoken to her mother in months and had not seen her father for far longer than she would have normally left things between them. And her siblings? Nearly a year.

“I understand,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I think,” she amended briefly, not wanting to sound at all presumptive. “It’s difficult, I suppose. It doesn’t help that you are so far away from them either. But you aren’t disappointing, Ollie,” she found the point she wanted to make. “You are wonderful. Your family should be able to see that.” Alice leaned over, impulsively hopping across the wall to plant a kiss on his cheek. She grinned at him before moving back over so their ropes didn’t get tangled. “You will work it out,” she promised, adjusting her hold on the rocks. “I know it. You’ll find something. Something to make you write so much you won’t be able to sleep in case you miss something. Then everything will be right.”

Reaching the top was an easy endeavour and then coming down even better. Once they got their legs back they returned the equipment, caught their breath and then set about thinking about going home. Home. Alice slid her hand into Ollie’s larger one and instinctively drew against his side, a pleasant smile lifting across her fair features. They disappeared once out in the open air, stopping off to pick up some pizza from the take away not too far from the flat. They were able to walk the rest of the way, idly making their way down the road, the sound of dew on the pavement crinkling underfoot. Light chatter passed between them, idle and inquisitive words seeing them fall into conversations along a bizarre vein. Yet it was good natured and inspired laughter as Alice hopped along beside him, having been put in charge of carrying the ice cream back. Ollie took hold of the bigger bag that held the pizza. It was probably for the best and besides that the ice cream pot had a handle that she was enjoying holding far too much.

They arrived home to an empty flat, albeit the faint sound of music from Ariel’s room told them that it was inhabited and the smell of food faintly wafting still from the kitchen, leftover from cooking, was proof that there had been substantial activity since they’d been gone. Alice put down her pot of ice cream, applying a cooling charm to it with her wand now they were out of sight of any prying Muggles, and she took off her coat, reaching up to hang it on the hook by the door. After toeing off her shoes she bounced own the hall in search of Ariel, opening the door to wish him a hello and inquire after his evening. She got a curt response as she was used to and he returned to his book, giving her leave to carry on with Ollie. She didn’t bother to ask if he wanted pizza. The bowl of pasta beside him told her he was sufficiently well provided for. Alice blew him a kiss, getting flipped off in response, and she laughed, shutting the door behind her.

Eric trotted out of the kitchen at that point, weary eyed and looking completely ready to buckle down for the night. At the sight of the sleepy dog, Alice seemed to feel the stress of the day and the earlier activity catch up with her and her eyes followed the puppy as he wandered into Ollie’s room. She brought her hand up to her mouth to stifle her yawn and she glanced over at Ollie wonderingly. Going to bed was usually a little bit more clandestine than this and she wasn’t entirely sure how to play her cards. She took a minute to think, pulling at the hem of her top thoughtfully, and then she looked up once more, trying to gauge just by looking at her friend whether or not she’d be allowed to continue their sleeping arrangements from that week.

“Can we eat in …” She bit her lip, her eyes lifting off in the direction of the room, her cheeks colouring a bright scarlet. “I’ll get some plates, shall I?”

Purpose gave Alice a little minute to think and she went into the kitchen, retrieving some plates, a couple of bowls, the slicer and some cutlery. Then she followed Ollie’s lead, moving into his room and pausing to set the plates on the bed before making her decision. She turned on her heel abruptly and hurried out in a flurry of blonde hair and fair skin that made Eric look up from where he’d dropped his head down on his paws. She returned soon enough, in the midst of wriggling a t-shirt over her head, a flash of freckled tummy making an appearance before disappearing behind the bright material of a Blast-Fronted Skrewts jersey. It was from the tour they’d done just after she’d left Beauxbatons, before she came to England with her father. It still fitted, too, despite a bit of half-hearted growth spurt having gone on between then and now.  

“Back!” She declared, bouncing onto the bed, landing onto ‘her’ side with a wide smile. She curled her legs around herself and then thought better, deciding to turn over onto her belly, flinging her legs into the air behind her. Her treasured pineapple pants came into view then as her t-shirt rode up a little and she ignored the breath of air flicking across the backs of her thighs, intent within her seeing her arm reach out and grab the plates.

“I’m starving,” she expressed suddenly as her stomach began to rumble. “I had this measly lunch with these two finance ministers today,” she shook her head. “They’re definitely going to cut deficits because they don’t buy a lot.” She rolled her eyes. “Did I tell you about the guy that got punched in the nose in the middle of a meeting? Politics is a nightmare. If you ever need a desk buddy, let me know, because I could write some cracking memoirs. D’you know why he got punched in the nose? Because Francois, one of the aids, was told he had felt up his wife. Then all hell broke loose. Cecile is such a femme sale.” Alice scoffed, holding out her plate to Ollie, blinking her long eyelashes at him cheekily. “Pizza please, monsieur.”

(ooc: I'm only a little bit sorry about how long this is.)


"60% of what you're saying... ain't coming out of your mouth."

As shocked as Oliver had been at her initial bounding across the handles of the wall to brush a kiss over his cheek, no comment had been made on his part. Even as they left, though, carrying their food and moving in companionable silence, a comfortable distance apart was the best Oliver could hope for. At least Alice was in a good mood, it seemed. For a Hufflepuff, Oliver had certainly not been as pleasant as he would normally be expected to, and it was weighing even him down.

Following her into the apartment, Oliver poured up drinks while Alice wandered down the hall to greet Ariel. "What d'you want, Alice? To drink," he clarified, gesturing to the fridge. They obviously had a wide selection, though Oliver was rarely one to drink any of the liquor there. Since that past Friday, though, he had been seriously considering reaching over and breaking his strike against the drinks. His gaze strayed to the bottles of wine, but Oliver just swallowed and decided to let Alice choose. Undoubtedly, he could go along with what she picked, even if it wasn't his usual MO.

"Um, yeah, that's fine," he returned, trailing behind Alice as she led the way to his room. He was slightly surprised, if he were being honest, that she didn't go for the couch instead. But Alice seemed to be spending nearly as much time in his room as Oliver did those days. The moment he stepped in, Alice turned round and rushed out, leaving Oliver to move to the side and stare after her. Shaking his head, he just smiled and went with it. He couldn't pretend it was the first time she had done something like that.

Once she had settled, Oliver set the pizza box on the end of the bed, passing it to her as requested. Sitting on the very end, he lifted his eyebrows at her tale. "That sounds fairly traumatizing. But you can't say you weren't amused?" he suggested, picking up his own slices to set them on his plate.

The box sat between them formed an almost barrier, reminding the writer bit of him of the ordeal with their blankets at night. Glancing up at her, he had to wonder after whether or not she intended to stay again. After all, she had already changed into a semblance of pajamas, and had requested to stay in his room, even if that was just for dinner. So far. "So," he started between bites, trying to angle the conversation towards their sleeping situation, "how tired are you? I could beat you in poker if you want."

A smile was tossed Alice's way just as a tap sounded at the window. Oliver's brows tugged together in question as he set the plate down inside the lid of the pizza box before moving to greet the owl there. He thanked the bird quietly, taking the paper tied there. Closing the window behind the bird, Oliver shot a glance to Alice, as if expecting her to know the reason for the letter. Unrolling it, his eyes glanced over the page, and even Oliver could practically see himself stiffen, back straightening. It felt very much like an out of body experience, knowing it was indeed him becoming impossibly angry, but also nearly able to watch himself do so. What he really wanted to do was crumple the parchment and chuck it back out the window - regardless of the fact that he had closed it. Oliver had the absurd feeling that, with so much aggression built up, he could easily shatter the glass with the force of his throw.

But it truly was absurd, and even as he lifted a hand with the obvious intention of crushing or tearing the letter, he just clenched his jaw. A muscle in his cheek jumped, making him look all the more severe. There was really nothing for it. Ariel would have to know. He would later be ashamed to admit that Alice had not crossed his mind when it came to people he needed to explain his actions to. In truth, she was the one bearing the brunt of it as he fumed in their his room. Even still, he stormed out, feet carrying him to his best friend's door. He didn't bother knocking before opening the door, and paused only a moment in silence.

"Do me a favor," he requested, coming off more harshly than intended. If Oliver had been on the receiving end, he would certainly have thought he had done something wrong. But Ariel... hopefully he knew his roommate well enough by now to understand what was really going on: Oliver was broken on the inside and didn't know how to explain it. "Throw out tomorrow's Prophet."

Dropping the letter on the open pages of Ariel's book, Oliver hesitated as his gaze darted around the other man's room. He couldn't find anything to say, though, so he bolted before Ariel could offer any condolences or commentary, closing the door behind him as he went.

A few turns around the living room later, Oliver felt an extreme need to just sit down and put something down in words. It wasn't until he had returned to his room that Oliver realized Alice was still there. He blinked at her, twice, then moved to his desk, entirely unwilling to approach the subject on his own. Instead, he tried to deal with his shallow breathing, tearing a page from his journal and drawing out a utensil to pen down his first real inspiration in days. It wasn't for profit but instead to clear his mind, and the words flowed surprisingly easily, the speed amazing even Oliver.


Why do people do such stupid things? We're wrought by our own internal complexities, to the point where emotion overrides rationality and sense. Wolves, though, are vastly different. They execute and seize, scheme to get what they want and yet somehow find no evil in their resolution. Wolves are the anomaly to our assumed truth when it comes to taking risks. They do what they feel is right and will get them what they need, when most humans with any real capacity for sentiment will consider the consequences.

The wolves don't think when they attack their pray in order to feed their young. Not beyond considering the fact that, well, their cub needs nourishment and whatever they've just killed will provide that. It doesn't matter who or what that so-called nourishment used to be.

The wolves don't think when they go after those they believe should be additions to their pack. They want what should have belonged to them - for power, for purpose, for community. They don't stop to ask the new members if they actually wish to join. It's either go along with the group or be taken down.

Similarly, the wolves didn't think about consequences when they besieged our train, when they attacked our students - our version of their young. They didn't think about consequences when they killed Thalia. When they stole her last year as a student and refused her a chance at adulthood. At a life.

They don't seem to expect retaliation from the family of the ones they've ruined. They don't seem to understand that a lowly writer can yet take up arms and ensure their destruction. They should pay the price for what they've done -- for stealing away my sister. And for whoever else's family they ripped to shreds.


The tone too dark for Oliver to properly stomach, he dropped his pen in slight astonishment, dropping his chin and tugging at the ends of his hair with his fingers. Eric seemingly came to understand that it was not the dog with whom Oliver was angry, but some unseen force. As his dearest friend and companion sank further into his chair, Eric came over from his spot in front of the bookshelf so that he could paw at Oliver's feet. He hoped, one might guess, that the sandy-haired man might look up and discover a new need: one to play with his pet. But the action merely reminded Oliver that he wasn't alone -- that Alice was perhaps still in the room. It, in Oliver's opinion, would have been somehow brave of her to stay. But he didn't dare look, instead keeping his defeated posture, the nonverbals screaming out silently his need to be alone but also a more subtle desperation for someone to come along and tell him it wasn't true.

Never had Oliver been dealt a blow so like this one. Yes, he had spent months agonizing over his inability to write, but that had been a conflict of self and of heart. This was a million times worse. This was an ache that wouldn't leave him for years. A pain that would keep him up, likely for days, as he tried to pretend it was not true. That it couldn't possibly have happened.

But his own writing was staring back at him, pointing out how incredibly stupid it was not to believe it.

The story would run in the Prophet come morning, which was the last bit that the letter he had dropped on Ariel's lap explained. Werewolves had attacked, Thalia was lost, and in the morning everyone would know. Whether or not they attributed her name to his, Oliver could well have woken up and seen it and had an even more dramatic, more tragic reaction than just fuming about the flat and writing out a desire to enact revenge. He had never been and likely wouldn't ever be the sort of person to actually go forth and do anything about what had happened, but imagining he could was at least a burden off his back in some way. But his parents had known how terribly he would have reacted where the news from someone else.

Rapid movements led him to flipping his page, and to snatch up his pen again, this time digging into himself rather than the wolves what had caused it all. Somehow, the tone felt just as negative, just as pessimistic, though the handwriting was sloppier and the entirety was less sophisticated in its phrasing.


I should have gone out to the station with them this morning. It's been too long since I've seen any of them. Even longer since I told them I care. Not since I stopped hiding the fact that I can care about people beyond friendships. It's not that surprising that I would, after everything I've been through. But not all that surprising that it seems like I can't, considering.

But how did I not know? It seems like I should have known. Don't people feel things like that? I've heard they do. But I didn't feel anything. I had no idea.

I should've been there. I should have


A line of scribble followed his unfinished sentence as his hand started shaking even worse than it had been. His right one attempted to hold the paper still, but the left one released the pen, sending it clattering to the desk. Oliver let his head fall into his hands again, trying to stifle the jolts by setting his elbows on the desk. They persisted, though, to the point where he failed to concentrate on his need to appear stoic. Calm. To appear like he wasn't utterly lost.

He wasn't sure if the blonde was still in the room at all, but Eric hadn't gone trotting after her, so he hoped somehow or other that she remained. It was completely possible for Alice - and frankly, sensible for her - to have decided that Oliver was someone she needed to avoid. But hadn't he helped her through the nightmares without question? He could only hope that his lack of explanation hadn't frightened her too much. Never one to know exactly how to handle conflict - internally or otherwise, Oliver found it difficult to even imagine how he would tell her what was going on. He wanted to try, though, so even though he couldn't look to see if she was there or watching him or anything else, his mouth opened.

"Alice-" he started, the word cut off as his throat tightened in anxiety and shame. Part of his tone implied a desire for comfort and connection, even if Oliver couldn't express it properly. He half wished she would get up and - well, he wasn't sure. He just needed her to make a move so he didn't have to think about it. "Allie-"

“Uh, orange squash?”

There was something highly childlike about the blonde woman scrabbling into a pair of shorts and rummaging around in search of a t-shirt. Somehow, that innocence had beaten all odds and it had been maintained. Thus, the request was reflexive – almost predictable given it was a penchant of hers to sit with a tall glass of the sunny liquid juxtaposed against the boring, stuffy paperwork she had to do. His reply was almost kind of wry and she found herself smiling as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.

Bobbing back into his room was a familiar strategy and jumping onto the bed a pleasant thing as she bounced on her bum, the mattress complaining a little at her disturbance. She pouted at it but looked excitedly at her bedfellow when he entered in with the pizza. She clapped her hands together happily and moved forward onto her belly to retrieve her slices.

Nibbling happily on the crust first, Alice nodded, smiling around the slice, shrugging her shoulder a little to concede that, yes, perhaps it was a lot funnier than it had been at the time. She’d lost her rag with them, however, exclaiming shrilly that they could leave if they had nothing better to do with their time. They weren’t going to argue with her either – especially not after discovering the meek witch they’d met was actually secretly a firecracker.

“You wouldn’t beat me,” Alice wrinkled her nose at him, wiping at her lips. “Surely you’d let me win at least once?”

The window and the owl that came through it disturbed him from being able to reply however and Alice twisted around, continuing to nibble on her pizza, watching Ollie idly, expecting the letter to be entirely benign. It wasn’t, though. Her brows furrowed as tension rose up through his spine, straightening his neck and straining his shoulders. She slowly bit down on the end of the pizza she was nibbling on and swallowed, hard.

Setting down the slice on her plate, Alice sat up slowly, wiping her mouth again as she parted her lips, tempted to inquire after what had happened. Temptation, however, was stolen from her when Ollie turned on his heel and struck from the room. She swallowed again, the last of the cheese topping sliding down her throat, and she looked down at Eric who had lifted his head questioningly, having seemingly expected that they’d eat and settle down.

In truth, so had she.

Sliding her legs out from under her, Alice’s dainty feet found the floor and she hopped up, reaching the door just as Ollie roved back into the room, the distant sound of Ariel promising to burn and salt something – she didn’t hear what – meeting her ears. She opened her mouth again, hoping to put forward some sort of inquiry as to what had just happened but she found herself unable to voice it, pressing her body back against the bedroom wall instead.

She felt caught between two opposing walls of feeling. The happiness was being chased out by an encroaching chill that seemed to unsettle the dog as much as it did her own person. She tried to find the words, tried to offer something to Ollie but somehow she figured – rightly – that if he expressed want of her, then she would. She recognised that he needed to be alone, it was evident in the tight body language but she couldn’t ascertain whether it told the whole story – whether he actually truly wanted to be alone.

At the call of her name, she broke forward without a second gander at whether she should or not. She passed around Eric, reaching down to pat him on the head gently before sliding her hands up onto Ollie’s shoulders tentatively. She squeezed them hesitantly and leaned down, resting her chin on his head as she wound her arms a little around his neck.

“It’s …” not okay. There wasn’t even any point offering the weak condolence. “Do you…” she frowned a little bit. “Do you want to talk about it?” She finished gradually, turning a little so she could face him, moving from where she had been behind. “It might help a little bit,” she offered optimistically. “Or I could get you something to drink or, um… you know, maybe something a bit harder or I, um, I could go or I could stay if you want or um…”

She trailed off aimlessly, chewing worriedly on her bottom lip as she looked at him. Her friend. A man whom she’d never seen so dejected. This wasn’t Ollie. It wasn’t him. Yet, with a start she realised no, this was. This was her friend – and something truly terrible had happened to him.

Oliver's fingers trembled horribly, even as they lifted and curled around her forearms. He wanted, thruthfully, to clutch at her, but Oliver knew he had inflicted enough damage that night in scaring her has he had. She couldn't even form a sentence, where Alice could so easily tell him her problems with David and terrible dates and all the rest. But he had done something so out of mind and so wrong that he had actually staggered her, and Oliver hated himself all the more for it. He hadn't earned her concern -- didn't deserve Alice moving across the room to enclose him in her affectionate hold. His eyes closed and his forehead pulled forward despite her presence steadily there within his mop of hair.

What he wouldn't - couldn't - understand was why she had stayed. Had she been watching him write that whole time? Or was she waiting for him to do something directly to her that would excuse her when she decided she wanted to leave? Oliver wasn't sure the latter was like her at all, but for all of the affection he kept to himself, he didn't believe he knew her well enough to discern whether he was right or not. He really didn't.

But then, it was impossible to know every side of her, even if they had been friends since birth and together until they died. Everyone held secrets and no one could ever be fully uncovered. Oliver was living proof of that, even if the man was loath to admit it.

The page he had marked up with his emotions stared back at him as he attempted to find words to give to Alice. "....I just want... Normal. But I can't have that now."

If there had ever been a more vague comment made by the man, Oliver couldn't remember it. He so often wanted to be honest - to a fault, even if that meant being blunt. So he took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way he lifted Alice along with him as his shoulders moved. She rotated and for a second he thought his movement had scared her off. But she remained, and Oliver blinked up at her, wondering if this was the part where people started to cry. He hadn't ever been one to do so - clearly more likely and more programmed to write it all out in one painful, terrifying page.

That reminded him. Ariel had the letter, so he couldn't well shove it into her hands and expect her to understand. Ariel had met Thalia, on several occasions over the years, and at least that friend could have some sense of comprehension. It would be much harder for Alice to configure an image in her mind of what his sister might have been like. And Oliver couldn't bring himself to go get the photo album or anything like that. He couldn't even form the words on his tongue, nonetheless try and look at her face in any of those pictures. If Alice asked, that would be Ariel's job.

It was terrifying to imagine Alice's reaction if she read his words, but Oliver saw no other choice. Releasing her, he extended a hand to the paper, presenting it to her with the first side up. At least then she would understand what she had seen. Understand how frighteningly dark his mind had become in those moments. His stomach sank, guilt riding him. He should really reply to his parents, he knew. But he couldn't find a way to force his hand back into that stack of parchment. Couldn't bring himself to try and find the words when he had been absent for months when he had no legitimate reason for it other than his own self-doubt. Alice had been right, of course - his career hardly mattered in their eyes. Not when this had happened and Oliver hadn't even tried.

He shook again, pushing himself back from the desk and moving to pace the room. Suddenly, the words were flowing as if he hadn't ever lost them. "I know that I messed things up, but what a way for the world to punish me. She shouldn't have been the one hurt in all of this. She could have drowned, terrified and desperate for someone to save her. Or, worse somehow, the werewolves could have-"

He shook his head, unwilling to even consider the possibility. "It's not... I can't believe it," he continued, practically falling back onto the bed where he then sat looking over at Alice. "Cannot believe that I put off going home for something so stupid. I thought it some shameful thing that I'd been stuck as I was. But it's so much worse to know that my own sister might have thought I didn't care.... And now this."

A wave of furious disappointment in himself took over, crashing into him as his fists clenched, knuckles turning white with the effort. He shook his head once more, directing his next words at Alice even as he continued to berate himself. "How can you possibly want to stay here with everything gone wrong under this roof? Why would you ever have come to me with your nightmares when Ariel makes far more sense? What good am I? Obviously I lack the ability to properly handle things. I mean, I've gone round and terrified you without even meaning to. Alice, it doesn't..."

It didn't make sense. And Oliver desperately needed something to make sense.

The blonde had lifted herself up onto the desk, her legs swinging gently to and fro as she studied Oliver with a critical eye – not one searching for flaws but one looking for some evidence as to why he had changed so dramatically and in such a short space of time. But what he provided her with was a literal illustration of what had happened, not a few pieces of evidence based on his posture and expression.

In her shaky hands, Alice smoothed out the paper and her brows moved down over her eyes as she read, her gaze quickly taking in the script that stretched out across the page, delving into everything that had happened, all of his fears in such an eloquent manner that if her heart ached before, it was intolerable now. Alice turned it over once she was done, registering there was a piece on the other side before dropping her hand down into her lap, her gaze fixing upon Ollie.

Was this what Mira had felt like? Was this how she’d looked – so utterly and irreconcilably lost? She swallowed the lump rapidly beginning to form in her throat. Guilt. It felt like guilt. She licked her lips absently and avoided his expression, her mind suddenly clouded with the image of her sister. She rubbed her hand up and down her arm thoughtfully and sighed a little bit, trying to shoo from her brain the idea that it had been like this: so utterly, painfully hopeless.

“You’re a good man,” Alice asserted finally, setting the page down. She popped off of the desk and reached for him, crossing the room back to the bed.

“And no one stops loving someone, ever.” With her hand she took away a few sprigs of hair draped across his forehead and she smoothed her hand down across his neck and shoulder.

“She knew you still cared for her,” Alice promised, nodding once as she sat down beside him. “Time doesn’t change that sort of thing.”

Alice put her hands in her lap and looked down at them, chewing furiously on the inside of her cheek as she tried to think of something useful to say. She wrung her fingers together absently and tried to gather her countenance somewhat, tried to get some sort of semblance of an answer to him in mind but all she could really come up with was the half-indignant retort of:

“You didn’t scare me,” Alice looked up, frowning at him a little before dropping her gaze once more, wringing her hands together a little more forcefully. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“W-why shouldn’t I come to you?” She asked, alighting her gaze on Eric across the room. “You… you’re my friend. Friends… friends are there for each other. I’m not being very good but I’m here for you and even if I’m not being so great I … I wasn’t just going to bail on you.” She brought her eyes to Ollie, finally.

Impulsively, she turned and threw her arms around his neck, tossing one leg over his lap to she was astride his hips. She hugged him tightly, burying her head in his neck. Against her initial desire she dropped herself softly down into his lap, curling her legs around him. She hid herself against him, almost, desperate to be close, desperate to make him see that he had no reason to second guess anything.

“I stay because I like it here, because it’s home. Because I need you. You’re my friend, Ollie. You were the one that came that night. I care about you. So I’m here.” She swallowed resolutely and pulled back, nodding to him firmly. “You’re not a bad person. You’re good. You really are. You have been nothing but that to me. You’ve let me lean on you … so,” she wound back into again, hugging him to her tightly. “Lean on me.”

Oliver’s expression fell into one of disbelief as he stared back at Alice. His chin turned away, as if his failure to make eye contact would surely keep the words from hurting. But she seemed to believe them somehow or other, didn’t she? He blinked once, very slowly, as her fingers moved his hair to the side. By the time she settled next to him, Oliver was veering towards her, wishing she would give him what Ariel never could – the physical comfort he would have been granted were he home. But he couldn’t go when it was so late. His parents were closer to her in ways, and would need time. They had always needed time when it came to things like this. And with their not seeking contact with him as of late meant they would need all that much more space.

Yes, Oliver mused, they were friends. What he needed, really, was a friend anyway, so part of his mind told him to just shut up and accept the fact that she honestly had no clue what he felt, what he thought. So he nodded and turned to look at her just to find her watching him. The instant she reached for him, though, Oliver’s arms wound around her, a shaky breath released as he scrunched his eyes closed and tucked her into his hold. She considered her place with them Home, and that was damn well good enough for him.

He accepted her offer without words, instead pressing an absentminded kiss to her hair as he would have, perhaps, to Thalia if it had been their mother instead of the daughter. He rocked them, as if it could soothe the wounds both held onto. His gaze fell to his desk, knowing he should have sent a reply. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to release her now that he had found that warmth to soothe the ache there.

“I have to go tomorrow,” he whispered, not entirely sure why his voice was kept low, but finding it felt appropriate and keeping it that way. “I’m just not sure what I’ll say when I get there.” Drawing in a breath, he let his shoulders fall, some of the tension leaving. “But that is tomorrow, and I can determine that when the time comes.”

A hand came up to pass over her hair, smoothing it down across her shoulder blades. It wasn’t the right moment for him to break down – obviously, considering he wasn’t on his own and what with Alice still having the potential for nightmares, even if she said they had stopped. The last thing Oliver wanted was to worry her so much that they came back. Just as he would eventually forgive himself for not going home, it would also take him a while to get past the guilt of causing that for her.

“Sorry, Allie,” he mumbled finally, hands dropping to her waist and thumbs running circles into her sides through the fabric of her shirt. “I won’t be like this forever, I promise. I’m a little conflicted just now, but it’s still me. Promise. I’m still here if you need me.”

Sitting back in Ollie’s arms, Alice’s gentle, cornflower blue eyes lifted to his pained gaze and her hand mirrored the show of affection, drifting her fingers gently across his face before lowering it down over his shoulder. A soft sigh left her lips and she drew back to him again, her hands drifting absently across his back as she snuggled her head into his neck. She squeezed him fiercely, with a lot more strength than her ropey, sinewy arms suggested and she pulled away, her eyes glistening in the odd light about the room, full of unshed tears.

Lifting a shaking hand she coursed her nails along the parting through his hair and swallowed hesitantly, trying to gather some sense of bravery within her. Beauxbatons wasn’t so particular about what happened to its students, however. But then, that said, Alice … she was a survivor. The fact that she was there, sat in his lap, was evidence of that. Ollie was a different animal, of course, but she believed in him. She believed that, as he said, he would wouldn’t feel so rotten forever. He’d never be right, of course, but the guilt would, at some point, abate.

“I can… I could … I mean…”

Alice let her hand trail down to curl about the nape of his neck and she leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. Her lashes licked at the tops of her cheeks but were snapped back away from each other as she reopened her eyes, fixing her gaze upon him mournfully. She squeezed herself to him again, sliding her head into his neck once more, and took her hand round to rest it over his heart, following the warmth that was still deep within him despite his chilly, abject exterior.

“I could go with you.” She exhaled her offer, half-frustrated with her stuttering. “If you wanted,” she amended quickly, thoughtfully, adding: “I … I’m just thinking … you wouldn’t have to …” she swallowed. “You wouldn’t have to do it on your own. I mean… like, you’d be with your family but maybe … I don’t know …”

Alice shook herself, replacing her heavy frown with a smile that was meant to encourage him to give it some thought. She knew that it was probably more likely to be something he’d want to do himself but she still wanted him to know that he didn’t have to be alone if he didn’t want to be. Because he didn’t, after all. She raised a brighter smile to her lips and snuggled close to him again.

“I’m here for you too,” she insisted resolutely, turning her head up to look at him. “I promise.”

An expression of shock took him over when she looked at him, appearing for all the world like she might break down, too. And for what? His grief? It genuinely surprised him, and left him wondering if she understood exactly what he was going through. He couldn't bring himself to ask, though. He had read once that if you pry, people are less likely to open up. So if she ever felt a need, he would ask. No more probing questions - about David or otherwise.

Their foreheads met and Oliver had to remind himself that no, they hadn't been that close before, but no, he could not do anything crazy. It wasn't the right time, but was actually a very stupid time to want to do anything like what flashed through his mind: he could just change the angle of his chin and they would be there. Too soon, she moved away and it took a second for Oliver to redirect his gaze on her.

He held his breath when she spoke again, clarifying her previous attempt. There was the obvious question of what his parents would say or do, but there was the stronger appeal of having an excuse to break off from his family if he needed air or just needed painfully badly to get away from the grieving. He bit the inside of his cheek for a second before sighing. His whole torso moved with the action, but his heart rate sped up when she looked at him, finishing her reply. One hand abandoned her side, leaving Alice to find balance for herself for a moment. The backs of his fingers drifted over her cheek as he looked down at her, a sort of wonder shining in his eyes.

The gesture ended when his first two fingers settled under her chin, drawing her in. His eyes darted between both of her own, searching for a moment before he let himself tilt his chin and brush a careful kiss over her lips. She could easily get angry with him, but Oliver pulled back enough to make momentary eye contact, just as short as the amount of time it took for him to decide he was done pretending his affection didn't exist. Leaning in again, the second kiss held a different sort of emotion - genuine tenderness beyond just the thanks and desire for comfort that the first had attempted to convey.

Part of him wondered if he was breaking some kind of unspoken rule attached to the imaginary roommate code, but he couldn't bring himself to care. If he screwed things up, at least the decision about her going with him would be an obvious solve. But he did keep himself from putting too much pressure on the situation, refusing his own wish to thread his fingers into her hair or to silently request any more than the simple kiss.

"Alice," he breathed, somehow without air but unable to keep from saying it no matter how hard he tried.

She took a deep breath when he first pulled away, the shock of the act washing over her like a warm wave of water. She blinked open her eyes and stared at Ollie, star-struck and half drunk on the idea that he’d done exactly what he’d done. Before any doubt could enter into her mind about what had just occurred, however, he repeated himself and she found herself unwittingly responding to the embrace of his lips over hers. She found herself basking in the feeling, the familiar twist of those slithering slices of skin. Yet, Ollie’s were different. This was so entirely different. It took her a minute and she had to remind herself … they were just friends. To give in to anything else opened her up for hurt. It made her vulnerable again. Despite herself, she knew she wanted to. But she couldn’t.

Alice shook her head, clamping her eyes shut as though somehow that would give evidence for her dissent in the situation. She flinched one back into openness and looked at Ollie. A fresh shard of guilt dug into her but she wasn’t sure whether it was from regret for not replying in kind or whether it was because she hadn’t indulged a broken man on a whim his grief needed. But then, that put them both at risk. She anxiously wondered whether it would serve to only see her tumble over that awful waterfall of feeling. She wondered whether in doing so she’d be the only one to do it and that after the dismay subsided he’d come to wonder why he’d even bothered to kiss her in the first place. That she didn’t think she could come back from.

“I…” she took a breath to steady herself. “I can’t, Ollie.” She lowered her gaze which had reappeared with a dose more hurt than before and she cleared her throat, extricating herself from his arms. She moved to sit back on the end of the bed next to him and wrung her hands together worriedly, her mind, absurdly, straying to what her father would say to her. In fact, he probably wouldn’t say anything – rather, Paul-Henri would prefer merely to look at her with the same sad stare that he’d greeted her with gently when she and David had broken up. You shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, Allie.

Swallowing back the misery that was rapidly creeping in, Alice dropped her hands into her lap and blinked away the dismay that was welling up tightly within her.

“I just …” Alice pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s not the right time… it’s not-”

She shook her head again and pushed up from the bed, finding her feet once more. Eric lifted his head up off of his paws and glanced at her quizzically, making the idea of stepping out to gather her wits once more. She might’ve had a cup of coffee, switched on the late news and thought for a while what the best course of action was. All normality felt now desperately alienated and regardless of any sensible feeling, Alice found herself turning around, wondering what would happen if she kissed him now. But she couldn’t. Despite her tempted lips and her desperate legs begging her feet to let them take her back to him, she couldn’t do it.

“I can’t.” She insisted, stepping back from him. “I just can’t.”

And with that, Alice did turn and flee from the room, hurrying feverishly into the kitchen where, pausing, she threw her arms around herself and crouched down beside the dining table, sucking in a through shuddering breaths before flinging herself back up to her proper height. She flurried herself over to the kettle and hastily pulled a cup from the cupboard above, filling it with more coffee than she would have done normally. The water burned but it did nothing to whisk away the feeling of his mouth on hers which scalded her far more brutally than the coffee did. Not because she resented, either.

Because she wanted it again.

Alice slipped slowly to the tiled floor, her hands curling about her cup.

She wanted it again.