WHO: Chuck Mulpepper & Charlie Weasley WHAT: Would you rather! WHEN: April 5 WHERE: Chuck's flat
"Would you rather…" Charlie began as he walked back towards the couch with two bottles of just-opened beer. He'd been on edge until Bill had updated the Order to let them know that Ron and his friends were fine, though Dobby (whom Charlie admittedly didn't know at all) hadn't made it. But he didn't want to talk about that. Nor could he, really. "Only ever listen to the worst song off your favourite album for the rest of your life, or never get to listen to the same song twice ever again?"
Wrinkling her nose in thought, Chuck accepted her beer and took a long swig of it. “That’s a horrible question, first of all,” she said, gesturing with her bottle, “but I think never get to listen to the same song again. Even our favorites can be terrible sometimes.”
"It's 'Would you rather,' it's not meant to be a good question!" Charlie pointed out and settled in beside her. "Are you sure? I've heard you put that Weird Sisters song on repeat."
“Yeah, but on the other hand, Do the Hippogriff,” Chuck said significantly. “It’s on the same album and it’s pure wireless bait. It’s terrible.”
"Ah, put your hands up in the air, like an ogre just don't care."
“And that would be the only song I could ever listen to for the rest of my life.” She nudged his knee with one of her socked feet. “I couldn’t do that to either of us.”
He had planned on singing through to the end of the chorus, but even in the name of flirting, Charlie didn't think he could do it. He lifted his hands in surrender. "You make a good point, I forgot I'd have to hear it for the rest of your life too."
And then he realised what he'd said and quickly covered it with a swig of his beer.
She tilted her head, resting her cheek against the back of the couch. She didn’t quite smile yet, but she looked like she wanted to. “You’d have to listen to it for the rest of my life, huh?”
"I mean, if that's what you want. I don't know. I get it if you don't, I haven't really—" he paused, because even he could tell he was being stupid. "I called Dragos and he was, you know, asking me if I was coming back and I said no, probably not."
A little confused, both by the subject change and the new familiar subject, Chuck nodded. “Yeah, I mean, once all —” She gestured around the room with her bottle, indicating the war. “— this is over, you’ll go back, though.”
He shook his head. "No. I don't know if I will. Unless, uh, well. Unless you want to go with me."
She cleared her throat. “You’d stay here for me?” Again she gestured with her beer, the mouth of the bottle pointed at her chest.
He didn't know why the words were stuck in his throat, or why he, a dragonologist, was having trouble confessing something that seemed so simple. "People are a little more important than dragons. Especially when they're dying more often than normal."
Now she smiled, a little, but she was still hesitant. “But what’ll you do here? Is the Kettleburn Reserve gonna be enough?”
Encouraged a little by the smile, Charlie brushed his hand against hers. "I could widen my focus a little. After the war. Until then, there's plenty for me to do for the Order."
Something clenched in Chuck’s chest, thinking about Charlie and the Order. But she turned her hand over and caught his in her fingers. “I don’t think I’d really stay here forever,” she admitted slowly. “I’m just not sure when.”
"You should pick the next location," Charlie said, meeting her eyes. "Where are you thinking?"
“South America?” She didn’t sound sure. “I’m thinking a rainforest sounds nice after everything here.”
"Oh my god, the magical creatures in the Amazon would be amazing to see in person, in their natural habitat!"
“Exactly,” she said with a laugh. And then she set aside her beer so that when she surged forward to kiss him she didn’t cover them in it.
Charlie didn't have the benefit of this forward thinking and nearly spilled his beer on himself in surprise; not that he cared, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer. He brushed his thumb against the curve of her spine as he kissed her back. "I don't want anyone else."
“Neither do I,” she murmured, brushing another kiss over his lips before pulling away just enough to flash him a grin. “I definitely want to hate-listen to Do the Hippogriff for the rest of my life. With you.”
"Oh, really? You wanna move your body like a hairy troll with me?"
“I would even groove around like a scary ghost with you.”
"Shake your booty like a boggart in pain?" Charlie wrinkled his nose. "How high were they when they wrote this shit?"
“Extremely high,” Chuck answered. “But we know all the lyrics. What does that say about us?”
"That we should get high because we'd like it better? I don't know." He set his beer down on the ground and used his now free hand to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. "To be fair, I also still know all the lyrics to Friday and that was sung by a child. I don't want to think too deeply about what that says about me."
“You’re young at heart,” she said with a decisive nod. She was finding it really difficult not to smile down at Charlie, though, so she didn’t bother, lifting one of her hands to brush her fingers through his hair and leaving the other at the back of the couch to brace herself. Her smile went a little skeptical. “All the lyrics, though?”
“Okay, maybe just the first verse…” he admitted, before quickly closing the distance between them for a kiss. “Love you,” he mumbled.
She made a pleased sound in the back of her throat and mumbled back, “Love you too,” before pressing in with another kiss and another.