“This is surreal,” Alfie offered mischievously, wringing his arms around Millie Hayes’ waist as her hands tugged him by the collar into her home.
Having just gotten off work he was somewhat sticky and disgusting but the fierce way she smashed her lips to his explained something very clearly to him: she didn’t care. His hands immediately rose, fisting the material of her dress in his hands at her hips and he tugged her to him, his teeth absently pulling at her bottom lip questioningly, her mouth opening in response, deepening their kiss. Then, when they broke away, both no longer able to stand their breath tickling at each other’s upper lips as they dragged in air through their noses, they smiled ridiculously, their arms growing loose yet affectionate around the frames they had come to so know well.
“Good evening,” Millie laughed a little, reaching up to wipe away the lipstick that had smeared across his mouth.
Alfie’s hands lifted to do the same and for a moment they spent time fixing each other’s clothes and their faces, lingering perhaps a little too long, for it was only a distant cry that broke their stride and they both turned at once, Alfie rushing into Millie, quick to her slow. She laughed a little, grasping for his hands, guiding him to a stop. He chuckled, placing an absent kiss on the patch of skin that had been revealed to him where her dress strap had fallen. Oddly soft fingers pushed it gently back onto her shoulder and she smiled at him.
“It’s Liam,” he protested, “c’mon, Mills, let me go.”
His smile was infectious and Millie couldn’t help but relent, following after him, finding that he was here in the dead of night as surreal has he had described. When they entered the nursery, small and poky and entirely not what she had wanted but it was steadily getting more tolerable. She’d added more windows to it one day on a whim and Elijah’s paintings had gotten a new lease of life. The twins thereafter seemed much happier and Millie herself was more inclined to be in there with them instead of out with them cradled on the sofa – especially when Alfie was there.
Liam was immediately scooped up into waiting, familiar arms and his sniffles abated somewhat as he leaned into Alfie, absently lolling his head across his chest, presumably sensing that it wasn’t his mother and thus the man holding him could provide nothing but a bottle to feed him with. If anything, as that realisation crossed through him he seemed to look quite put out and his dark eyes rolled around a bit in search of Millie before settling on her, a hand extending. She came to his side immediately, cooing quietly over him, inquiring if he had slept well, and Liam tumbled into her arms of his own accord, Alfie absently making sure he was cuddled up in his blankets still before reaching for Kelly who had opened her eyes and was beginning to kick, demanding her own little portion of attention.
The four then retreated into the living room to cuddle up on the sofa. The Moses basket was nudged off of the end, bouncing to the floor and creating more room, and Alfie drew up the blankets resting his head against Millie’s shoulder. She smiled briefly, turning Liam around a bit before settling against the cushions, content to support Alfie as he slowly wormed down to lay his head against her legs. He passed a kiss to her thigh and he looked up at her briefly, a smile curling cheekily at his lips, before he reached to readjust the covers around Kelly.
“So where is he, then?” Alfie asked finally. They both knew who he was talking about, too. Millie reached over the side of the sofa and took a sticky note off of the side, slapping unceremoniously on Alfie’s forehead.
The man smirked a little and lifted it off, turning it over to read it, his brows furrowing a little, his lips pursing together in half-disbelief, half-cynical amusement.
“You are kidding,” he asked, holding the note on the tips of his fingers as he shifted to look at her. When she shook her head, he snorted, folding his eyes back to the note in thinly veiled disgust. “Bastard,” he commented.
Millie shifted a little, averting her eyes. Sensing her discomfort, Alfie threw the note away and looked at her pointedly, asking her silently, challenging her to contest what he’d just said without being technical about it. There was no illegitimacy in him, if that’s what he meant. Only, he didn’t. He meant it in the more conventional, urban term. He was an arsehole. Nothing he could say could ever quite convince her of the truth of that, though. He sighed, deciding to leave it, electing instead to switch on the Quidditch.
For a long while they were content to sit and watch the game, occasionally one getting up to get something for the twins but otherwise conversing normally, leaving behind the throwaway comment on Keiran, the absentee everything. It had become something of an expected gesture – to have the flat feel uncompromisingly cavernous. She loathed it. The emptiness as well as the flat itself. She’d always far preferred living at Bridget’s. At least there, with Elliot on hand, there would have been no need to rest on someone else. But there was every need here, now, in a home she hated, that she didn’t want to bring her children up in, waiting for the occasional periods when her husband would actually come home.
In truth, when she herself had gotten in after spending the day in the park with Baldric whom she had confided in quietly in between his excitement over seeing the babies, she didn’t come over the note at first. His response had been quiet, measured, and somewhat confused but as she tried to explain, his brow smoothed out a little, his lips kept their purse of irritation but he seemed to lose the majority of his aggravation. He wasn’t going to pretend to understand fully. He himself had never really extricated himself from Ben long enough for him to consider looking elsewhere for someone to talk to, to be with. When they had been apart, all he’d wanted was his lover. So there was no comparison. But the woeful woman before him wasn’t one he could loathe for her choices. It wasn’t her fault entirely, just as it wasn’t entirely Keiran’s. They were both so desperately in the wrong at junctures, Baldric wasn’t sure how they could be dragged back.
When, after feeding and putting the twins down to nap, she actually found the note, she was livid, a sudden flare of uncontrolled magic bursting all of the lights in the kitchen and living room. After fixing them, apologising briefly to each one, she tossed her wand onto the sofa and moved into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. It was then that she called Alfie, determined that she shouldn’t be without company. In hindsight, perhaps she shouldn’t have. Perhaps she should have left it, allowed the strange relationship they’d developed to end naturally. But, she couldn’t. She needed him. She felt sad and desperate all the time and at least when he was there she was on an even keel again – on familiar ground.
The need for Alfie to go and pick up his little sister from the party she’d gone to arose at some point around ten o’clock. He reluctantly extricated himself from the covers, settling a sleeping Kelly down on one of the pillows, and lifted himself up. He reached his arms overhead, revelling in the snap and crack of his joints, and he held his arms out for Millie who, having put Liam down also, went to him naturally, burying her head into his chest. He cradled his embrace around her, resting his chin on top of her head, and he sighed gently, both wishing that perhaps somehow it could be different.
“Can I come tomorrow?” He asked, his hands coming around her cheeks, lifting her head to look at him. He expected the ‘no’ that came. He knew as well as she did that they couldn’t carry on as they were. He was no man for her. His was not a stable life though his life seemed to stabilise hers. Money was not something he had a great luxury of having. His roof leaked, the house was cold. There was nothing he could provide for her but for himself though it always had to be in a setting that wasn’t of his own making. They were living a strange, uncompromising lie and as he looked at her, he knew it had to end. They both did.
“Oh, Millie,” he murmured, curling her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry,” he told her gently.
“Me too,” she replied, reaching up to tug his mouth down to hers. One kiss. One last kiss. Of an evening. Perhaps of their entire friendship. He responded in the same way he had done before, tugging her to him, grasping at her desperately, his hands looping up this time underneath the skirt of her dress, curling around the backs of her thighs, the tops of his palms resting at the point where her bum began to arch up into is curve. She sighed against his mouth, arching herself instinctively into him. She felt his fingers begin to pull down the zipper of her dress and she gasped, whining pitifully at him, her hand coming up to press him away. He went, too, albeit reluctantly.
“I love you,” he told her simply. For, there was nothing else to be said. Millie bit her lip and he chuckled a little, telling her to think on it before ducking out of the door, kissing her once before doing so.
Millie changed after that, taking the opportunity to shower and clean herself thoroughly while the twins were sleeping before changing into her nighty. She fed the twins once more after and put them down for good, knowing she’d probably have to drag herself out of bed in the early hours but content to do so because she was feeling somewhat buoyant. Despite the evening not ending as she had hoped – though really, what had she hoped would happen? – she was content. So she settled on the sofa once more, turning off all of the lights apart from the lamp beside her and she dragged a book into her blanket covered lap, determined to finish it before the night ended.
An hour or so later, whilst Millie was in the midst of making a cup of hot chocolate for herself, she heard the door jostle open. A hesitant peek out of the kitchen confirmed who she already knew it was. She slunk hesitantly back into the kitchen, picking up her spoon, focusing on the hot chocolate, her other hand reaching into the back of mini marshmallows for a couple to eat while she waited. She was determined to keep her peace, as ever, but it was exhausting to do so. She was so desperate for him to stand up and take notice of her that she’d actually stopped trying to make him.
She poured two cups of hot chocolate, though, liberally scattering the marshmallows and nutmeg across the top.
Millie stepped into the living room, nudging the kitchen light off with her elbow and turning on the main living room one. She stood there for a moment, feeling altogether completely ridiculous. She eyed the blankets and her book and the half-eaten bar of chocolate she’d been nibbling on while reading. She bit her lip, glancing over at Keiran briefly before moving to the coffee table, setting the two mugs down. She looked at him again, unable to quite find the words, fearing that if she did speak, it would all come out like a torrent and she’d be unable to stop it.
“Did you have a good evening?” She forced out, clambering back into her nest, cuddling the blankets back around her, lifting the book back into her lap. “Thanks so much for all your help by the way,” she added before she could stop herself. “You know, raising our children and all that rubbish. You’ve made a great contribution of absolutely fuck all. So thanks for that.”
Oops.