WHO: Charlie Weasley, Snow White WHEN: Technically New Years Day, in the wee hours WHERE: Snow's bedroom. Yup. WHAT: After months of codependency, they pair go home together. STATUS:
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With an unusual sense of stillness, as though his movements were being carefully crafted, Charlie's hand reached down from the edge of the mattress to the pile of abandoned clothing scattered across the floor. The room was enveloped in the darkness of the night and he did not have any sort of aid for his search, instead relying upon his sense of touch, as finger tips brushed against different fabrics and tried to deduce if each article he slowly touched was the one he was specifically looking for. This was more difficult than it could have been for the simple fact that Charlie wasn't looking for his usual rugged and course work pants or soft tee shirt. No. He was searching for the tailored suit pants that had felt foreign on his frame, but had made him blend in with the crowd earlier that evening; when they'd partook in the festivities hosted by Howard Stark.
He'd worn a suit that was typical to muggle fashion and was more or less expected at that social gathering. A rich brown in color, with a lighter shade of vest and a maroon shaded tie, the suit had made him appear rather dashing. He could admit that. He knew how to dress appropriately for these types of events, even if it hadn't been part of his culture. He'd learned from his quiet studies of Nymphadora's Father and from the villagers that became his casual acquaintances in Romania. He'd put effort into his appearance that evening. He'd shaved and he'd made certain his curls weren't too wild. He'd wanted to ring in the new year with a good celebration.
And he'd essentially accompanied Snow to the party. He spent a good deal of his time these days in her company. They leaned against one another in the aftermath of Rose's departure, at first, but that had been months prior and by this point in their companionship, he'd stopped seeing it as mutual coping. He'd begun to see her more as his friend. He'd look forward to evenings in her company, even if perhaps he didn't say so aloud.
Stark was famous for wild parties. Eccentric and lavish. Charlie had known this but he hadn't really grasped it to it's fullest before that evening. With the sense of the occasion all around him, he'd smiled more and been a little more relaxed. He offered to get drinks for him and Snow. He'd reached out his hand in offering for more than one dance. And, largely, he kept by her side.
When the clock had struck midnight, and the dawn of 2017 had arrived, it was Snow whom he found himself with. He couldn't say if it had been a conscious decision or not but he knew that as the cheers of "Happy New Year" erupted from the crowds, it was Snow whom he embraced, and moments later...whom he had kissed.
It wasn't a blur. He could recall it all from that moment forward until this moment. The rush of it all had been ever present but now, hours later and after a bout of slumber in a room that was not his, the stillness felt ever present. It was almost as though the only sound was her breathing by his side.
Still trying to be quiet, his finger tips finally grasped the pants of his suit, and he closed his hand around the fabric. He shifted, delicately, to swing his legs over the edge of the bed; before pulling the pants onto his nude frame and allowing himself to stand. Once his feet had touched the ground, he stepped over the pile of various garments, and made his way from the room to the nearest bathroom, refraining from turning on any light.
He wasn't gone long. Just enough to use the restroom and to splash water upon his face, which was becoming more and more conflicted as the fog of slumber faded away. When he stepped out from the bathroom, he seemed to hesitate, uncertain as to whether he should climb back into the bed or not. He listened, waiting, to see if she'd woke at all during his attempts to let her remain asleep.
Though he'd been gentle with his movements, it had been a long time since anyone had been in her bed. Any movement was bound to be felt. And then she'd heard him, of course. A few glasses of fine champagne weren't enough to get the centuries old Snow White from getting so far drunk that she couldn't remember a thing. They loosened her tongue, unraveled her shoulders, and perhaps eased the ever-present tension in her temples, but she was in complete awareness of everything that she did.
(Ever since Blue Beard had put her and Bigby under a spell, Snow was overly paranoid about what she did and how far she let alcohol take her.)
Disappointment was a constant companion for Snow, which was likely why she tried to fill her home with real live companions. Bobby and soon to be Jo Harvelle. She missed the noise of her children, of Bigby, and while she had grown exceedingly fond of Charlie, she suddenly felt as if they'd crossed a line. Every footstep away from the bedroom, she wondered if Charlie was having second thoughts. Or god forbid, first thoughts. Rose had been gone longer than they'd been together.
Snow rolled over onto her back, a hand at her forehead as the moonlight crept across the bed. "You all right?"
He caught her movement and his eyes were focused upon her as she rolled onto her back. He was standing in the doorway, almost as if frozen, and only made a shift in his position when her voice spoke out. "I am," he answered, his voice being held back in his throat. He quickly gave a cough to clear his throat, his fist covering his lips as he did so, before he let himself nod in addition to the response. "Yes, I'm fine," he decided to say again, with more clarity than his first attempt, though the volume was still quiet.
He knew he didn't need to be as quiet as he was. She was awake and Bobby was likely far from this section of the house. He wouldn't guess as to whether or not the man was asleep. Whether he was or not, he'd still not likely hear Charlie's voice.
Moving forward, he came to the bed. He didn't slide back in and underneath the covers, like one who was comfortable with the space would; but he sat on the side he'd awoke from. He brought one leg up underneath the other as it hung off the side of the bed. He let his elbow rest against his knee while the palm of his other hand rested against the mattress, not far from her, and kept his balance for him.
"Are you?" He asked, his head tilting some, as he nodded to the hand upon her forehead. "Do you need something?"
She turned the hand over, running her fingers through her hair before reaching out her hand to the other side of the bed. Her fingers brushed over the top of his hand. Gentle. Hesitant. Snow shook her head, more awake now. Her gaze dropped to his arm where she tiptoed her fingers up his arm. "No, I'm good."
His own eyes dropped down to his arm, watching her movements. He gave the smallest of smiles with her words. He didn't see a reason to doubt them, presently, and they eased some of the feeling of tension that had been building inside him. He let his shoulders relax.
Turning his head up, he tried to meet her gaze. "I was trying to keep from waking you," he admitted, now, as they sat in the otherwise relative silence.
"You ever heard of The Clash?"
There was a point to the question. She just paused briefly to see if he knew the answer to it.
He stilled. He'd not known them as well as other muggle bands but they'd been popular among the muggle born students while he was in Hogwarts. He'd started school in 1984, after all, and they'd been popular for a few years before that. One song, in particular, came to mind in conjunction with the band. It was there as soon as she asked the question.
"Should I stay or should I go," he quietly said, as if that was a sufficient answer.
"It's okay that you were wondering that." She'd been wondering it too, but it was harder to actually manage it, given that this was her bedroom. The one she shared with Bigby during their marriage. She felt like she'd betrayed him. "It's new to me too."
In fact, for several centuries, she'd concentrated on establishing Fabletown, helping Fables and keeping things under control. Rose and Charming's betrayal had really stung, and Snow had decided that was it. Love was something she'd never been destined for. She'd been okay with that — until the kids, until things with Bigby had settled down, and then he'd gone and gotten himself killed.
Quietly, she finished. "I don't think it's a mistake."
He gave the dryest little humph of a noise, which felt both like a sigh and a small laugh. It was enough to make him relax more and he shifted, not wanting to be sitting in a position that gave him near immediate access to his feet if he felt the need to retreat. Instead, he stretched out and laid down, before rolling so he was on his side and now facing her. He propped his head up underneath his arm and took a moment to find his words. "Thank you," he breathed out, because he had been worried about that. He didn't want to assume he was welcome to remain there and yet he didn't want to leave and cause any hurt feelings. For the time being, even though this was new and confusing and he didn't know what to make of it, ideally he wanted to remain where he was.
He reached out, rather slowly, with his free hand and moved to take hold of hers. He was being very conscious of his movements as well as her reactions to them. If it felt as though she were against it, he was ready to pull his hand back. But, in this moment, if she was fine with allowing it, he felt like the touch was a bit of comfort.
"No, I don't either."
He'd been concerned that perhaps the morning would arrive and she would have felt this way, but he knew he didn't think it was a mistake. Even though there was worry over how feelings would play out he definitely wasn't intending to call this a mistake.
She mirrored his movements to place herself in front of him. There was no need for quiet, but it still felt like one of those moments to use hushed tones. Snow threaded her fingers through his hand. She'd feel the need to expand her hand's movements at some point, but for now she was good.
"This complicates things," she whispered, but the complication wasn't necessarily a bad one. Things had been far too simple for Snow for quite some time. "Complications are challenges, and I never back down from them."
"It does," he agreed without any moment of hesitation. There would be no denying that and he saw no reason to even try. They weren't fools. He didn't need to say aloud why this complicated things. They both knew why. There were a lot of 'what if' scenarios springing to mind but what purpose did they serve presently?
They could be thought about in the event they became a reality.
"You know, personally, I've always been rather fond of challenges," he stated, giving her the smallest smile as he said it.