who ? daphne greengrass, roger davies and arran wood when ? wednesday evening, 28th september where ? roger’s house what ? talking, maybe, perhaps, sort of status ? complete
When Daphne had showed up at Roger’s house on Wednesday evening, similarly to how she had last week, Roger had been... mostly surprised at not being surprised. Unlike last week there hadn’t been any demands for explaining why she was there, rather Roger just accepted that she was and let her in. The sex, not matter how or where they seemingly had it, did not get worse. Briefly Roger had considered if he needed like a chart or something to track whether changes would occur, but then he realised just how Ravenclaw that thought had been and decided against it.
There was more writing, too, which Roger honestly was pleased about. The notebook Daphne had presented him with was one that, from the flick through Roger had given it at first, seemed to incorporate the notes he’d made on her previous notebook. It was... surprising. Roger wasn’t sure what he had expected. She had told him she wanted him to comment, had asked him to comment, yet seeing those comments actually implemented like they had been helpful was odd. It was also quite satisfying and Roger wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
So instead, he had kissed Daphne, and similarly to last week they hadn’t gotten much further than Roger’s living room before their clothes were discarded and kisses became intersected with touches that culminated in sex. Roger was starting to wonder if there were many places left in his house he hadn’t had sex with Daphne on, at or in. Afterwards, once Roger had caught his breath back, he leaned back into the sofa, hand running through his hair. “Okay, let's read this notebook then,” he told her reaching to pick the book up where he’d originally discarded it in favour of Daphne’s body.
--
Daphne had given up on being surprised. There really wasn't any reason to be any longer. It was exhausting to be frustrated and confused, so she settled on just accepting that she was completely insane and that Roger was right there with her in that insanity. There wasn't a reason to fight it. She hadn't even bothered when she felt the urge to go to his house that Wednesday and hadn't fought it when the kisses turned to touches and the touches turned into sex.
Afterward, she retrieved the shirt he'd been wearing and pulled it on, mostly so they wouldn't get distracted while he was reading through her notebook. If she stayed naked, they'd just end up ditching the damn thing again and going at it. Again. Pulling her panties on underneath the shirt, she settled on the sofa with him. "I tried to use your suggestions as much as I could. There's definitely more description now. You should be proud."
--
When Daphne pulled on his shirt, Roger followed the lead once he’d located his discarded trousers, lifting his arse up to pull them on before he turned to frown at Daphne. “Do you go home in my shirts?” He asked her suspiciously. “Because I think I saw your gay shirt in my laundry basket, and I’ve gotta say, this is not a fair exchange,” Roger informed her but didn’t stop himself from reaching out and tugging on the shirt so he could pull Daphne in for a kiss. A kiss that was mostly brief and sweet, and doubtfully discouraged Daphne from stealing Roger’s shirts.
Pulling back, Roger resettled on the sofa, flipping open the notebook, pausing briefly when Daphne told him he should be proud. Roger wasn’t really sure he knew what he was expected to be proud of. So rather than replying he read the first few pages, frowning at the paper in front of him. After a few minutes, around page five, Roger looked up at Daphne almost confused. “You changed the structure, like how I suggested,” he said managing to sound almost dumbfounded. It wasn’t that Roger had expected her to ignore all of his comments, but seeing her having actually used something as big as ‘change your structure’ was... Roger didn’t really know what.
“It works better now,” he added almost just as confused. It did. The story was starting to shape up like a story rather than a bundle of thoughts and ideas and sentences. It was good. “The train bit’s good,” Roger told her with a small smirk.
--
Daphne smirked at him. "Maybe," she said, biting her lower lip in a very teasing, deliberate manner. She leaned in when he tugged the shirt, taking that brief kiss and smiling as it broke apart again. "Maybe it is all a plot to rid you of all of your shirts so you just stay shirtless," she told him, eyes wandering over his chest to punctuate the statement.
She watched him flip through the notebook, arching a brow at the way he seemed almost surprised that she'd taken his suggestions to heart. "I told you that the suggestions were good," she reminded him. "Did you expect me to just carry on doing it the way I'd done it before and not listen to the suggestions at all? You've got a knack for critiques, Rog."
She grinned at his assessment of the train. "Just wait til you read my description in the next notebook. It has nothing to do with the story at all, but if I didn't write it down, you wouldn't have gotten off of my mind long enough for me to do any other writing." Which was exactly why she had written the very naughty scene somewhere in the first bit of the notebook she was working on now.
--
Roger decided that he wouldn’t put it past Daphne to be plotting the abduction of all his shirts. Slowly sneaking them out by looking so hot in them that Roger didn’t have the heart to object and tell her to leave them behind. “You’re too hot for your own good,” Roger told her but it wasn’t true. Daphne was definitely hot enough, this in no way disadvantaged her. Unless, of course, she would end up not wanting all of Roger’s shirts in her house, in which case, Roger hoped she’d opt for returning them rather than throwing them out. Maybe he’d buy some new shirts anyway.
Well, no, Roger supposed he hadn’t expected her to just carry on. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Maybe Roger was just surprised at how well his comments worked and how easily Daphne seemed to have written them in. There was something incredibly appealing about it and Roger wasn’t sure how to express that. But then Daphne said how she had written erotica, as she had suggested during their first meeting, and Roger laughed. “Oh, I look forward to reading that,” he assured her. The truth was, of course, that Roger really quite looking forward to everything she wrote. “Maybe you can give me a preview?” He suggested leaning in to kiss her just as there was a knock at the door, which made Roger frown.
“Hold that thought,” he told Daphne, getting up from the sofa and walking over to the door to, hopefully, get rid of whoever was there so he could return to what he had been doing - Daphne. “I’m not interested in bu--” buying anything sort of died on Roger’s lips as he was faced with Arran. “Hi,” he offered dumbly, before stepping aside to let Arran in. “Um, Arran, Daphne,” Roger said waving towards the sofa where Daphne was. He was sure she’d recognise the name, but rather than saying anything else, Roger just proceeded to stand there awkwardly.
--
Arran was sure Byron hadn’t intended it, but his friend’s words about what was next had stuck. Hermione hadn’t given him instructions beyond the list of questions. She probably would have, if Arran has asked, but he didn’t really need to ask. He still hadn’t worked out whether or not he wanted to (or even was able to) forgive Roger, but he knew he wanted to stop missing him so much. Which meant either moving on and committing to the idea they’d never be friends again or figuring out how to spend time with him. Preferably without physical violence.
Which was why, after his evening run, Arran ended up pouring his (horrible, Willa-approved) smoothie into a thermos and then walking over to knock on Roger’s door. He had been prepared to find he wanted to punch Roger immediately. He had been prepared to find he had nothing to say. He’d even been prepared for Roger to be out. What he hadn’t been prepared for was for Roger to be in with a girl. It was too early in the evening for Roger to have been out on the pull, surely? And yet, Arran found himself being introduced to Daphne who, while not indecent, was probably wearing less than she might like for meeting a stranger.
“I’ll just go,” he said, not stepping inside, even though Roger had moved to let him. “It wasn’t -” Well, Arran thought it probably was important. “It can wait,” he amended.
--
Daphne stood when Roger introduced her. She wasn't indecent since everything important was covered, but she certainly hadn't expected to be making the acquaintance of anyone that evening. Like Roger, she'd fully expected it to be someone selling something at the door and figured he would turn them away and return to her pretty quickly. The introduction caught her even more off guard once she put the name to the things that Roger had told her. She'd blinked a little, almost owlishly, at him.
"No, no," Daphne said, shaking her head. "It's good to meet you, but I don't want to stop you two from talking. Don't mind me. I'm just… going to go to shower anyway." Which would allow her to put on more clothing and would give them time to talk. "Go ahead, you two talk," she said, flashing a smile at both of them as she moved to pick up her clothing off of the furniture and floor where they'd landed in the process of saying hello to Roger earlier.
--
Roger... had no fucking idea what was going on. Arran was still stood in his door, telling Roger how he was just going to go and seeing how Roger had no idea why he was there that made even less sense. “No,” Roger said mimicking Daphne. Though, he was then distracted by Daphne saying that she didn’t want to stop the two of them from talking, because Roger wasn’t sure that was why Arran was there. It seemed... unlikely. But then, so had just Arran suddenly appearing at Roger’s door.
“You could just fuck off home,” Roger told Daphne as he watched her pick up her clothes and bag. The most he got in response to that was Daphne sticking her tongue out at him and then proceeding to carry on just as she had before. With a sigh, Roger waved his hand in the air rather dramatically as if that was going to explain anything. Except now he not only had Daphne make Roger’s life confusing, he also had Arran. Roger really wished he had any clue what was going on.
Once Daphne had left the living room, Roger looked at Arran again. “Come in,” he told his-- not-friend? “Please,” Roger added. When Arran did finally enter, Roger have small nod, not quite sure what he was nodding at. “Can I offer you anything?” Roger asked since that seemed like the polite thing you asked. A complete stranger. Which Arran wasn’t, but Roger still didn’t really know what the correct procedure would be.
--
Arran couldn’t help an incredulous look at Roger when the girl - Daphne - swanned off to use Roger’s shower, and stuck her tongue out at him when he suggested she fuck off. She obviously wasn’t living here, but did Roger actually have a girlfriend? The idea made Arran feel irrationally angry. Roger, cheating asshole, didn’t deserve to have a nice, pretty girlfriend who didn’t take his crap. At the same time, Arran realised it had been a year and he had next to no idea what was even going on in Roger’s life.
He stepped inside more because he felt like a prat standing on the doorstep than because he’d actually decided he wanted to come in. And then Roger was offering him drinks, as if Arran couldn’t have walked to Roger’s kitchen blindfolded and found the beer he was sure was in the fridge, and not just because their houses were laid out the same. But that was something a friend would do, and they weren’t friends anymore. So Arran just hoisted the thermos. “I brought my own.” It was horrible, and he’d much rather have beer, but also he didn’t want to drunkenly punch Roger.
“I didn’t really come to talk,” he said, since Daphne had suggested they should. Arran didn’t even know what the would say. He’d asked his questions, he didn’t exactly have other topics of conversation prepared. “I just - wanted to see if I could be here and not punch you.”
--
Roger gave a look at the thermos in Arran’s hand, sure that it was most likely filled with some disgusting, team-and-brother approved drink that Roger wouldn’t ever touch. He wanted to point all of that out but he had no idea if he could, or was allowed to. They weren’t friends. That was the one thing they’d established pretty well over the past year. So rather than commenting, Roger gave a shrug. “I’m going to have beer,” he informed Arran rather unnecessary as he walked across to the kitchen to get a bottle out.
At Arran’s words that he hadn’t come to talk, Roger sighed in relief. He didn’t want to talk because he had no idea what he’d say. What Arran would want him to say. If there was anything Roger could say that wouldn’t have him getting punched. Especially not when Arran was intending to be here to check if he could be around Roger without hitting him. “Your sister burst into tears after punching me,” Roger said because he didn’t know what else to say. “The house rules state you have to cry in the garden,” he added, though, Roger suspected that if by some bizarre reason Arran would cry after punching Roger, he’d probably let him stay in the house. Though, he might get Daphne to deal with it. Then Roger wondered if Daphne was any good with other people crying.
--
Arran nodded, taking a seat on the sofa even though Roger hadn’t explicitly said he could. Arran refused to stand on that much ceremony. Him sitting before he’d been invited was going to be one of the least awkward things about this, and he really didn’t think Roger would care. “I’m not going to burst into tears,” he said, keeping his voice at a reasonable volume mostly because Daphne was still in the house. Arran hadn’t cried when Roger had told him, and he hadn’t cried when he’d broken up with Cariad the week after. In fact, he’d only cried when he’d been too pissed not to, which was another reason not to drink.
“I’m just going to sit here and not punch you.” It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all Arran really had. He didn’t want to talk about how Roger had fucked his girlfriend, or how Charlie and Oliver had broken up, or how Hermione had bribed him into talking to Roger with pancakes. He sort of wanted to ask about Daphne, but he squashed that impulse down. If Roger needed advice about girls - well, Arran wasn’t feeling inclined to help him out with that. He watched Roger as he returned to the living room with beer. “Try not to say anything that makes that too challenging.”
--
Sitting there and not punching him, to Roger, seemed like a very sound plan. He was neither going to object to it nor challenge it. He was even not going to point out that he’d literally just had sex on that sofa. Instead, upon coming back from the kitchen, the cold bottle of beer in his hand oddly acting like a type of safety blanket, Roger took a seat on the other end of the sofa. He had no idea what he could say that wasn’t too challenging so for a while, Roger just drank his beer and sat there in silence.
There were things Roger wanted to ask. He wanted to ask how Arran had been, how the games were going (though, he did know the answer to that since he followed them). He wanted to ask about the girl - Hermione? - Arran had taken to the gala. He wanted to tell Arran about how he’d taken Daphne hiking and he still had no idea why. But Roger didn’t know if he was allowed to. Or meant to. Or anything. He didn’t know what was okay and what wasn’t and why Arran was even there.
After what felt like a forever in silence but probably wasn’t any more than five minutes, Roger turned to look at Arran. “Do you want to just punch me? Because I think that might be easier,” he said seriously. It might not fix anything but it had to be easier than sitting in silence.
--
The silence was agonising, but Arran still thought talking about Cariad would probably be worse. None of Roger’s answers to his questions had exactly been cheerful, and Arran had only been able to ask them because they weren’t doing it face to face. He tried to remember what they’d talked about before, back when Arran hadn’t had to wonder if Roger had flirted Cariad into bed on this couch. Nonsense, mostly, and Arran couldn’t come up with anything suitably frivolous to say.
By the time Roger finally spoke, Arran had drunk half his smoothie and was wishing it was beer. Maybe beer would’ve loosened the knot in his throat that was keeping all his words tied up. Granted, he’d probably have ended up shouting at Roger and storming out, but it would be better than the silent sitting. Roger’s question startled a sound that wasn’t quite a chuckle out of him, but he shook his head. “No. The point is not to punch you.” Because, maybe, if Arran could not punch Roger, then maybe one day they could get back to something like normal without having to Talk About It.
“Maybe I should build up a tolerance in stages,” he suggested. “That’s been, what, five minutes? Next week we can try for ten.” And in six weeks maybe they’d be able to spend an hour in each other’s company. If that was even something Roger wanted.
--
The idea that Arran might actually want to try and salvage their friendship was so alien to Roger that he first just blinked at his--well, still not-friend. Roger was more than sure he didn’t deserve Arran’s friendship and no amount of wanting it back was going to change that. Right? Except there Arran was, sat on Roger’s sofa, talking about building up tolerance for spending time with him. Suggesting that they could do this again. Well, hopefully, this wasn’t just always going to be sitting in silence and not getting punched.
“Do you want me to call Daphne back?” Roger offered. “She could probably make this both more and less awkward,” or so Roger presumed. She certainly was good at making Roger talk, maybe it was some sort of a magical talent that worked on other men, too. If Daphne did turn out to be some sort of a man-whisperer, Roger was never going to let her live that irony down.
--
Arran didn’t know if his plan - which had mostly been a joke, albeit a dark-humoured one - had any chance of success. Hermione hadn’t come up with it, which made it instantly less certain. Though, Arran didn’t think Hermione really got Roger, which was fair enough as she’d met him once and all she knew about him was that he’d slept with Arran’s girlfriend. Arran couldn’t decide whether he wished he didn’t get Roger, but he did. And, worse, Roger got him. Even after everything, to them a conversation in yes/no questions and ‘okay’s was both normal and adequate.
Except then Roger mentioned Daphne, and Arran really didn’t get what was going on there. “Who is she?” he asked, meaning more ‘what is she doing here?’ but assuming Roger would know that. If Roger didn’t want to tell Arran then he wouldn’t, but if they were going to invite her to join them, Arran thought he was within his rights to at least ask.
--
Roger really should’ve expected the question, because it was so obvious, and yet he’d been so distracted by trying to figure out what the fuck Arran wanted him to do or say, or rather what Roger could do and say that wouldn’t end with Arran punching him, that it almost blindsided him. Certainly to the point where Roger’s first response was a rather over dramatic groan as he leaned back into the sofa. “Daphne’s--” Roger had no idea how to continue that. “A friend,” he finally settled on, feeling weird at using the word. Not because she wasn’t but because it seemed almost rude to tell Arran that Roger had a friend who Arran didn’t know. Sure, they hadn’t spoken in a year, but Roger wasn’t exactly known for his great ability to make friends.
There was Lydia, who Arran and Roger had managed to share so shockingly well that she hadn’t even known they weren’t talking to each other despite talking to her. There was also Max, who Arran knew about as well as Roger knew Oliver. Arran had more friends, Roger knew that. He always had and it had never bothered Roger. Arran was just better with people and Roger hadn’t quite realised just how much until him and Arran had stopped being friends and Roger had been left with... well, very, very few close people left.
“I don’t know,” Roger said shaking his head. “It’s weird and I don’t really get it. But I--” like her, sort of died on Roger’s lips because he wasn’t sure he was okay to tell Arran that either. “I took her hiking,” Roger offered like that explained anything.
--
Arran didn’t say anything until Roger had finished. He didn’t care that Roger had made friends in the year they’d been not talking. Arran had made friends, even if he no longer considered himself to have a best friend (at least, not one that wasn’t related to him). However, he also didn’t believe for a moment that Daphne was a friend. Roger didn’t make friends with the girls he slept with, and while he sometimes made friends with his exes (or at least, he’d made friends with Lydia), that would mean they weren’t sleeping together anymore - which Daphne’s state of dress suggested wasn’t the case.
Roger did also say it was weird, which Arran accepted. Maybe Roger really didn't get it, or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it to Arran, which would be fair. Arran wondered if maybe Daphne was someone else’s girlfriend, but decided that Roger wouldn’t be able to play it so cool if she were. “A hiking friend,” he said, unconsciously giving Roger a look that suggested he didn’t buy this story. “And her clothes happened to fall off on this hike, so you generously lent her some of yours?” There was more of an edge of bitterness in his voice than he’d expected, so he tried to drown it in smoothie. “Is she going to try to make us talk?” he asked, waving away the need for clarification about what the hell Daphne was actually doing in Roger’s house. Hermione, he was certain, would try to make them talk.
--
Okay, so a hiking friend who lost all her clothes on the said hike was a bit of a push and Arran clearly was well aware of that as he mocked Roger’s explanation. Except Roger didn’t really get a sense that he could laugh at the joke because the tone of Arran’s voice was--Roger had no fucking idea what other than a degree of angry and that was neither here nor there, because Roger doubted Arran was annoyed at the fact that Daphne kept nicking Roger’s shirts. Though, Roger wished he was, because someone ought to be.
Instead, Roger pondered Arran’s question. He wasn’t sure Daphne would make them talk. She certainly didn’t make Roger talk but he did anyway, which was unhelpful in figuring out whether that’d be the case now. “I don’t think so,” Roger finally settled on. “Daphne’s--” And again Roger paused unsure where he was going with it. “At least somewhat fucked up,” he finally decided. “Probably not as fucked up as I am, but still,” Roger added fairly. Arran, of all the people in the world, knew just how messed up Roger could be about a lot of things. “I--” Roger stopped and then started again. “I’d like you to meet her,” he said honestly. Roger liked Daphne, him and Arran may no longer be friends, but it still mattered to Roger for Arran to meet her. More than briefly standing in Roger’s living room wearing nothing but knickers and Roger’s shirt.
--
Arran really hadn’t known what to expect to come after Roger’s pause - but it certainly wasn’t what he got. It made sense to him, though. If Daphne was fucked up herself, she would know better than to make people talk who didn’t want to. Arran wasn’t sure he should be grateful for that, but if he and Roger did have to talk, he’d rather not do it with an audience, so someone who was going to let them be awkward was… acceptable. And at least they could both talk to her as if this wasn’t awkward as fuck. Maybe. He nodded, about to agree, when Roger said he wanted Arran to meet her. “Why?” Arran couldn’t think of anyone Roger had wanted him to meet in years, and why on earth start now when they were barely talking?
The longer he was there, the more he wanted to shout at Roger. Not punch him, so that was something, but just yell at him for fucking things up so badly that Arran didn’t know if he wanted to get back to what they’d been. Half the time he did, and resented how long that seemed likely to take, and half the time he just wanted to walk away because this was all Roger’s fault. It wasn’t even as if they’d had a row they’d both been involved in, Roger had just fucked things up all by himself (with Cariad’s help) and Arran didn’t know how to pretend he hadn’t. “Giving you what you want isn’t high on my priority list right now,” he said honestly. “But that’s no reason to keep Daphne in the other room while we sit in bloody silence.”
--
Roger sighed, both at Arran’s question of why he wanted Arran to meet Daphne (the answer to that, Roger honestly didn’t know) and that he didn’t care much for giving Roger things he wanted. This wasn’t... Roger had no idea what this was. He knew he had fucked up. That bit they were definitely clear on. Roger had accepted that he had fucked up. He had even accepted that because he had fucked up him and Arran were never going to be friends again. It had been... hard. Roger had known he’d miss Arran but he just hadn’t anticipated just how much he’d miss him. The past year, Roger had steadily felt more and more lonely. And he knew he’d brought it upon himself and had accepted it.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Roger said finally with a shake of his head. “I fucked up, we both know how much and how well I did that,” it was true after all. “But this?” Roger said with a wave of his hand between them. “I’m not doing this.” There was no real way around it. “I don’t know what you want from me and quite honestly, I can’t be fucked with this awkward, passive aggressive shit.” Roger wanted so desperately to have Arran’s friendship back but as far as he could tell there was no way of going back to it, and frankly, if in it’s stead he was going to get awkward silences and passive aggressive comments? Well, then Arran really could just fuck off back where he came from.
Standing up, Roger put his bottle down. “Just go home,” he told Arran. “Go home and think I’m a horrid person, because I am, but trust me, I tell myself that plenty, I don’t need your fucking contribution.”
--
Roger was probably right. It wasn’t going to work, because Arran had no idea what he wanted either. And if Roger wasn’t even willing to try, if their friendship wasn’t worth that to him, then there was little enough Arran could do to change that. Arran stood, thermos in one hand, but he didn’t head towards the door. Despite the year of non-communication, he knew Roger too well. He didn’t honestly believe that his friendship had been worth so little, and the words Roger had written about doing this because Cariad would have made him unhappy were lodged in Arran’s mind.
“You didn’t fuck her because you were tired of me hanging around,” Arran pointed out. Maybe Roger didn’t get to decide they weren’t doing this. Arran wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Next time you can shut the door in my face, if that’s what you want, but I’m not going to stop turning up just because it’s hard.” It was good to say it, to have found some kind of decision about whether he was going to do this. Hermione would be proud.
He looked at Roger, not sure what was supposed to come next. “We can’t just pretend nothing’s wrong.” A note of doubt crept into Arran’s voice. Could they? Could he? He didn’t think that was what anyone would recommend, and he was pretty sure his sisters would have words to say about it, but maybe it would work for them.
--
Roger had no idea where Arran was hoping for this to go, other than not punching Roger, which personally, Roger was still a big fan of. He also didn’t know whether Arran at least referring to Cariad and what Roger had done was a good thing or not. Arran was right in that Roger hadn’t fucked her because he didn’t want to spend time with Arran. Frankly, Roger couldn’t imagine what would have had to happen for him not to want to hang out with Arran. And really, if that had been the reason, Roger was sure there had been plenty of better options to take to ensure that.
Pretending that nothing was wrong was both Roger’s prefered choice and a well practiced tactic he had employed for many years. “Are you going to make snide remarks and in general make it very clear that there’s an elephant in the room that we’re just going to pretend doesn’t exist?” Roger asked frankly. He wanted to say ‘sure, let’s pretend’ but Roger seriously doubted Arran’s ability to do so. “Like, what the fuck do you want, Arran?” Roger really wanted to know what the answer was, because ‘sitting around each other for five minutes at a time whilst exchanging no words’ seemed like the stupidest fucking thing in the world.
--
“I want none of this to have happened!” Arran snapped, because he really thought that ought to be obvious. “I want to not be having this conversation, and not be wondering who the fuck Daphne is and when you met her and when you bought that hideous lamp and why no one stopped you.” He gestured to the lamp in question, which had been bugging him on a subconscious level since he sat down. He and Roger had always had very different taste when it came to what their homes looked like. He sighed. What he wanted was impossible, which was the root of his frustration, and had been for months. He wasn’t going to get what he wanted, so he was forced to make do with the least shitty of his options. “I wanted you there when I made the World Cup reserves, and to take me out to get stupid drunk when my girlfriend fucking cheated on me because -” Well, Arran didn’t know why Cariad had slept with Roger, and he didn’t really care to.
He leaned against the arm of the sofa, not quite standing, not quite sitting. “I want that,” he said, more quietly. And maybe wanting that made it hard to accept anything else, but Arran knew he was going to have to try, because nothing either of them could do could wipe out the last year and a bit. “I’m shit at hating you,” he offered in a tired voice. “I kept wanting to make sure you were alright. And I got Lydia to send you pie. And I wish Celia hadn’t punched you, but I’m still glad she did rather than Oliver because it probably hurt less.” Not that Arran thought Oliver very likely to punch Roger, but he might have if Celia had told him he should.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” he admitted, because he really didn’t have a clue how they were supposed to get back to something resembling what they’d had before. Probably they’d have to actually talk, the awkward silences apparently weren’t working. “I can ask Hermione,” he suggested. “Unless you’ve got any bright ideas?”
--
Roger felt really quite stupid for not thinking that Arran might have wanted Roger there for--well, the important things in his life. After they’d stopped talking to each other because of what Roger had done, he’d assumed that was it. That he’d fucked up too badly for Arran to want anything to do with Roger. And that was fair. Roger had thought that Arran shouldn’t want anything to do with him, why would he? Roger had broken Arran’s heart and frankly, that had been the intention. Cariad didn’t deserve Arran in her life, but really, neither did Roger. The idea that nonetheless Arran might have wanted Roger there was just... well, Roger didn’t think he’d believe it if Arran hadn’t literally just said as much.
Somehow, the fact that Arran was shit at hating Roger didn’t really come as a great deal of surprise. For the thirteen years Roger had known Arran, the only thing the other man really seemed to hate was marmalade and that was mostly just bizarre. Roger couldn’t help but shake his head at the realisation that despite fucking Arran’s girlfriend, breaking his heart and ruining their friendship, Roger still ranked higher than a fruit preserve that, as far as Roger could tell, had never done any of those things.
“Do I fuck,” Roger snorted when Arran asked if he had any bright ideas. Roger was not a man filled with bright ideas, Arran knew this as well as Roger did. Instead, Roger walked back into the kitchen, getting another bottle of beer before he came back and pressed the bottle into Arran’s hands. “Have a fucking beer,” he told Arran, before sitting back down, leaning into the sofa.
Turning his head, Roger frowned at the table lamp. “I really like it,” he said quite honestly.
--
Taking the beer, Arran sat down, pushing the mostly-empty thermos away from him on the table. He paused a minute before opening the bottle, then took a swallow. “If I get drunk and punch you, it’s on your head,” he said. He didn’t intend to get drunk (or punch Roger), but he remembered how easily one beer with Roger became several beers with Roger. At least he’d warned him what might happen.
When Roger claimed he actually liked the lamp, Arran snorted. “You would.” Arran didn’t really think Roger’s taste was bad, just totally unlike his own. “Bet Daphne agrees with me,” he said after a moment. Of course, he had no idea whether or not Daphne liked ugly glass lamps with pink roses on them, but not knowing the odds had rarely stopped Arran from placing a bet. He gestured to the thermos. “Whoever loses gets to finish the rest of the health drink.”
--
“Okay,” Roger nodded when Arran warned him it’d be his fault if he got drunk and punched Roger. Seeing how Roger was pretty sure that even without the alcohol, he’d be at fault for being punched, it didn’t seem like a terribly important possibility to accept. Instead, he rolled his eyes when Arran said that Roger would like the lamp. The lamp was fine. It might have looked like an old lady should own it rather than Roger, but that was really not the lamp’s or even Roger’s problem.
At Arran’s bet, Roger groaned. Not because he had any objection to taking it, if anything Roger was glad to be able to take Arran on in a bet, it had been something he had forgotten he missed but with Arran’s words, that feeling came back strongly. Roger had missed it a lot, he thought. “You’re on,” he told Arran before tilting his head back to call out to Daphne. “Daph,” Roger half-shouted to ensure she could hear him, presuming that by now Daphne would no longer be in the shower. “Got any strong feelings regarding my table lamp?” He asked, assuming she’d come back into the living room to inspect the lamp before giving her answer.
--
Daphne had taken her shower like she'd said that she would and she'd gotten redressed just in case Arran hadn't run away in the time it took her to shower. She assumed that hadn't happened when she actually finished her shower and hadn't been joined by Roger. Afterward, she had intended to write in Roger's room while they talked. If they talked. She hadn't even made it to sitting on his bed when she decided to be nosey and listened to their conversation.
She'd managed to just stand there listening for the entirety of the back and forth, glad that they were actually having words at all. That was the first step to resolving their problems, she thought. She listened until she heard Roger call her name and stepped out into the room to regard the lamp.
"I have feelings on this lamp," she told him, nodding. "It's hideous, but I quite like it for some reason. It's very… you. Not that you're hideous, quite obviously, but it fits in with the rest of your house." She laughed then. "Not that your house is hideous either, but it's very--," she shrugged. What was the right word that she was searching for? "Eclectic," she finished. "Very eclectic."
--
Roger’s eyes followed Daphne as she emerged from his bedroom, giving the lamp a curious look. It was, Roger thought, a little disappointing that she had put her clothes back on, but he couldn’t quite blame her since Arran was there. It did remind Roger that he was still sat there shirtless and perhaps he really should get himself more clothes, but somehow it hadn’t felt much like a problem. It hadn’t made the conversation any more awkward than it had already been.
At Daphne’s reply, Roger frowned. He wasn’t sure that really sided with either him or Arran, but Roger did squint a bit at Daphne when she said it was ‘eclectic’ and thus implied that Roger was eclectic. There were many things Roger had been called and many things he considered himself to be, but eclectic really was no where near that list. “Eclectic,” Roger repeated out loud. “Merlin, I suppose at least I should be grateful you don’t think me hideous,” he said with a dramatic sigh.
“I’m going to get myself a shirt,” he said standing up. “Sit,” he told Daphne waving his hand towards one of the armchairs. “Tell Arran all about how you lost your clothes when I took you hiking and like a gentleman, I offered you mine,” Roger said with a small smirk before walking off to the bedroom to find himself a shirt.
--
Arran looked up at Daphne as she entered the room, appraising her in a way he hadn’t felt comfortable doing while she was half-dressed. She was certainly beautiful, which did nothing to explain what she was doing here, not putting up with Roger’s crap. If it hadn’t been so confusing, and if things hadn’t still felt so off between them, Arran would have been glad. Or suspicious. He honestly couldn’t tell. “That means I win,” he declared. Daphne had agreed that lamp was hideous. The fact that she liked it for its hideousness was irrelevant. Arran hadn’t made a bet about whether she’d like it.
When Roger went to dress himself, Arran returned his attention to Daphne. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You can’t possibly make things more awkward.” He didn’t know how much she knew - he assumed she knew something, because she’ advised them to talk. That Roger should actually have talked to anyone about anything unpleasant was surprising in itself. “Did he really take you hiking?” It seemed very unlikely, though Arran couldn’t work out why Roger would have been winding him up. Not now, anyway. A year ago he would have done it just for fun. “Do you like hiking?”
--
Daphne rolled her eyes at Roger as he left the room on that note. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with him," she commented, mostly to herself. She did as he'd told her to and found herself a seat in the armchair and focused on Arran. His words made her a little sad for them. It was clear that they were both hurting though it was just as obvious that neither of them wanted to admit how much. Well, at least not more than Arran had already admitted to Roger in his outburst. She wasn't admitting that she'd heard that yet, though.
She nodded at the question. "Not today, but he did," she said. "It was quite lovely though I expect he was trying to annoy me with the walk," Daphne shrugged at the follow up question. "It isn't something that I would normally consider very fun, but I did enjoy getting to go with him. It's not a new hobby of mine or anything like that. I write," she began to explain. "And I showed him something I'd written and he remembered this place that looked quite like the spot I'd written about, so he took me there." It was a sweet gesture. She wasn't sure that Arran would agree, but she'd enjoyed herself.
--
Arran opened his mouth to respond, then stopped himself. He had always felt he knew what to do with Roger, until Roger had slept with Cariad. Given just how much that had taken Arran by surprise, he probably wasn’t the best person to give anyone advice on dealing with Roger. There was also the fact he didn’t know what Daphne was doing with Roger, other than hiking and sex. So he just nodded, deciding that Daphne was a grown woman who could muddle through whatever interaction she was having with Roger on her own.
“That’s… nice,” Arran said doubtfully. It didn’t sound like Roger, at all. At least not Roger of a year ago. Had he really changed so much? He decided that the safest conversational option would be to leave Roger aside as a topic and concentrate on Daphne, about whom Arran didn’t know enough to be awkward. “What do you write?” he asked, which seemed a sensible question.
--
Hearing Daphne’s remark as he was going, Roger rolled his eyes. He wasn’t all that sure she was meant to do anything with him. Hopefully, perhaps, have more sex with him, but apart from that Roger had no expectations for her to do anything. So far that had been working well for them. It didn’t take Roger long to locate a shirt and he walked back in the living room to hear Arran ask Daphne what she wrote. Roger felt he could actually answer that, since he’d read over six notebooks full of Daphne’s writing, but it also didn’t seem like the sort of thing he was meant to interrupt to answer.
Instead, Roger walked back in the kitchen to get Daphne a beer, too, since it seemed rude if they and Arran were going to have some, to not offer her any. Coming back, Roger handed Daphne the bottle before taking a seat where he had been on the sofa before, reaching for his own beer and taking a sip as he listened to Daphne answer Arran’s question. “She’s good,” he told Arran honestly, because Daphne was a very good writer.
--
"It depends on my mood," she said. "I do usually tend to gravitate to more suspenseful types of stories, but I don't really care to lock myself into one genre more than the others because anything can change and make me want to write about something entirely different." It really did depend on how she was feeling that day as to what she would put down on paper. She was happy to be writing so much lately and attributed a great deal of that volume to Roger.
Daphne thanked Roger for the beer when he handed to her and smiled at the compliment to her writing. "What about you," she said, turning the questions back towards Arran. "What do you do? Do you have any hobbies?"
--
Arran watched the two of them as Roger returned, making no real attempt to hide the fact. “I’ll have to take your word for it,” he told Roger. “I don’t read much fiction,” he added to Daphne, because it wasn’t a slight on her in particular that Arran had no intention of asking for a title he might pick up. “My mum writes, but she’s a journalist. It’s probably very different.” He did read everything Evelyn wrote, of course, but that was no hardship when it concerned the thing he’d spent most of his life doing.
“I play quidditch,” he answered Daphne’s first question. “Keeper for Montrose.” It always surprised him a little when people didn’t assume his career just from his surname. While Charlotte and Ronica weren’t in quidditch, there were still more Woods who were than otherwise. “So that’s my hobby and my job, really.” He took a sip of his beer. “I like movies. And muggle sports.” Turning back to Roger, he offered a smile that didn’t feel quite right on his face. “So are you going to finish this for me?” he gestured to the thermos. “You did lose.”
--
Roger really wanted to mock Arran for his ridiculous love of Muggle things, especially the way he seemed to become attached to things literally depending on how odd they were. And there were a lot of odd things in the Muggle world. Except Roger wasn’t sure if that was... okay, he supposed. It was strange, this whole thing. At least it didn’t feel as strange as it had done ten minutes earlier. “I did lose,” Roger confirmed holding his hand out so Arran could pass him the thermos. There was something oddly pleasing in actually losing a bet to Arran, it reminded Roger of their, well, friendship.
Downing the weirdly green, what Roger presumed was spinach, goo, he made a face. “It’s awful,” he told Arran and assured Daphne as he made a face, passing the empty vessel back to Arran. “Arran likes bets,” he explained to Daphne. “Back when we were in school, we used to compete of who could eat the most... well, many things, I think I lost twice by being sick from eating pie before Arran was,” Roger said, an amused grin playing on his lips at the memory. He’d had stomache ache for days after. Then, Roger frowned. So apparently telling Daphne things was not exclusive to when it was just Roger and Daphne. That was, in a way, maybe good to know. At least Roger was sure that Arran would be just as convinced this was weird and confusing for Roger. Maybe he’d know how to fix it. Maybe he’d refuse to tell Roger spitefully.
--
Arran's hobbies, both his job and muggle things, were very interesting. Daphne hadn't held much interest for quidditch personally, but Arran certainly wasn't the first person she'd found with a liking to it. Because she didn't know his surname, she had made no assumptions about what he would or wouldn't like or be involved in. "Muggle sports," she commented. "Do you have a favorite?" She found it very intriguing, muggle things, and though her parents would likely roll their eyes at the thought of such things, that didn't take away her curiosity for them.
The explanation that he also liked bets, volunteered by Roger, had Daphne grinning. It was obvious that the two had been very close. She hoped that they'd find a way to work through the issue that had separated them. It was a shame that it had happened the way it had, but losing that long a friendship was just depressing. She could understand why Arran was hurt, of course, and he had every right to be. It was a sticky situation and she was only seeing it from the outside. No doubt it was very much more difficult when in the thick of it like they both were. She felt badly for the pair of them for different reasons.
"What is the strangest thing that you two have ever bet on?," she asked.
--
As Roger told stories about the times he’d lost, Arran had to fight an impulse to jump in with stories of time Roger had won bets. There were plenty of them - it would have been no fun to bet against someone he could consistently beat. What was strangest was that Roger wasn’t bringing them up, wasn’t trying to impress Daphne, or avoid the topic of their friendship altogether until it was more comfortable. It just wasn’t the way Arran was used to Roger acting around girls he wanted to sleep with. Arran really had to wonder if Daphne and Roger had been sleeping together for some time, it seemed the only explanation of why he was so comfortable, and yet surely Roger would have mentioned that to Celia as a reason he couldn’t go with her to the gala? Or he’d have told Lydia, who’d have mentioned it to Arran? He shook his head slightly, baffled by the whole thing and not sure if it was his lack of knowledge or if Roger was just being weird. Different.
He turned his attention instead to Daphne’s questions. “Not yet,” he answered, grinning. “I haven’t seen them all yet. I’ve been to lacrosse and rally driving, which were both pretty good. And I saw extreme pogo jumping on my brother’s television.” Honestly, Arran didn’t know how one would begin to pick just one favourite. “I’m hoping to go see some Highland Games next year, because they sound ridiculous.” The first ones he could find weren’t until May, though, so that would have to wait.
He didn’t have to think long before decided on their strangest bet. “The Giant Squid,” he said - just as he heard Roger interject the same words, with almost identical inflection. It made Arran want to punch Roger - but in a friendly way. He didn’t, downing another swallow of beer instead. “We had this raging debate for months about whether the giant squid liked jam,” he explained, for Daphne’s benefit. “I don’t even remember what started it. But one weekend we filched a loaf of bread from the kitchens and started throwing jam sandwiches and cheese sandwiches into the lake to see if it would eat any of them.” He glanced at Roger again. “I think you won that one. I seem to remember writing your History of Magic essay.”
--
“I don’t even know what lacrosse is,” Roger admitted looking at Arran. Out of the two of them, Arran had always had far more interest in Muggle things. Mostly, Roger had just found it an amusing quirk, but he couldn’t really recall Arran ever attending Muggle sports event. Once they’d tried to go watch football but it had been so unbelievably boring that they’d given up and just gone to the pub half-way through. Lacrosse, whatever it was, Roger assumed must’ve been more interesting than football. He wanted to ask who Arran had gone with but again, it didn’t seem quite the sort of thing Roger was meant to be asking when they hadn’t spoken to each other in over a year, and really, in that time Arran could’ve made plenty of new friends, or really, taken one of his other friends.
Daphne’s question made Roger, like Arran, answer almost automatically. “The Giant Squid,” he said, biting down a grin when Arran said it at exactly the same time. It had been a memorable bet, Roger was glad they both agreed. It was nice to know that despite whatever had happened there were still things they could definitely agree on. He nodded along at Arran’s explanation and then laughed when Arran turned to him to confirm that Roger had won it. “Yeah, I’m not sure how much it really was a victory on my part, since the Giant Squid didn’t seem to prefer either of the sandwiches,” Roger admitted with a shake of his head, the amusement clear in his voice.
--
Daphne was fascinated with the thought of lacrosse and rally driving. She'd been to neither and wasn't terribly sure what lacrosse was, but it was probably at least interesting. Arran seemed to like it enough. "That sounds really fun," Daphne told Arran. "Muggle things can be very confusing, but there's no shortage of finding new and interesting things to see."
The pair of them answering the question almost identically had Daphne grinning again. It was really kind of sweet how they still fell so easily into finishing each other's sentences even if some time had passed and their friendship was strained. It made Daphne certain that they could patch things up. It likely wouldn't be an easy road, but she had a great deal of confidence in the fact that it could be done. The tale of the Giant Squid bet was amusing and the way that Roger and Arran chatted as if there wasn't an issue between them, even for that moment, was nice. "I bet the two of you were a handful in school. How much trouble did you get into together?"
--
“Lacrosse is great,” Arran enthused. True, he’d only been to one match, but he’d enjoyed it, and still thought the game both ridiculous and brilliant. He launched into a brief description of how the game worked, directing his words to Daphne but falling into the cadence he’d have used to describe it to Oliver - or to Roger, back in the day. “We went to the international final,” he added. “So the quality of the players was really high.” True, they’d all been under 19, but still.
With a slightly guilty glance at Roger, which had nothing to do with the trouble the’d gotten into, Arran nodded. “All of it,” he answered. Their respective houses and the age difference had meant Arran was called a bad influence several times. “Flitwick hated me, especially.” Partly because Arran hadn’t tried very hard in his subject, to be honest, but also because Arran had always been the one in trouble with Roger.
--
Now Roger really wanted to ask who ‘we’ was but still decided against it. Instead he gave a deep laugh at Arran’s assurances that they had gotten in all of the trouble. It really wasn’t even a lie. “I was given multiple talks by Flitwick about how Arran is a terrible influence,” Roger assured. He managed to stop himself just in time before the next sentence could escape his lips since ‘told me I shouldn’t be friends with him’ wasn’t really quite as amusing a sentiment now as it would’ve been when they actually were friends.
“I’m going to get another beer,” Roger said standing up. “And then we can tell you all about the time we filled the Astronomy Tower with glittery foam and blamed Hufflepuffs for it,” he added with a grin. It was a story well worth telling and if Roger carried them down memory lane, he could almost pretend that everything was okay between him and Arran. Pretend he didn’t wonder whether this was a one time thing and Arran would decide he much rather go back to not speaking to Roger.