darebear

The bar was dark. Quiet. The door, although not yet locked, had been shut, the makeshift signed flipped around to closed. It was quiet outside -- people really didn’t go out at night, not any more. But Darius was happier than he’d been in a long time as he moved around, sweeping up any mess that had been left in the bar, a slight spring to his step. 

“Me too,” she said with a curt nod before laughing again. She was forever saying more than she needed to, but for some reason she was not nearly as bothered by herself while Darius stood smiling at her, planning their tomorrows. “Mean — ‘course I will. Just said as much, yeah?” She perked up on the balls of her feet, pecking him on the lips again.

“I don’t want to go,” she said softly. “But the sooner I go, the sooner it’ll be morning, and —” she broke into a beam again and hopped back down from the bar. “I can’t wait ‘til morning.” Her heart could’ve burst at the sight of him. He looked truly happy for the first time in ages, and she wished she had a camera or at the very least a small notebook where she could describe that strange little glint in his eye. She didn’t want to forget, even if she would get to see it tomorrow and the next day and the day after that … Getting carried away with herself once again, she hopped back from the bar with a parting kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Smiles.”

“It’s nice to hear,” he responded, the words leaving his lips accompanied by a laugh, a fond expression clear as day on his face. 

Letting his hand go from her waist, Darius didn’t want her to leave either. If she left, something could happen, to ruin his happiness. But he knew Ros would come back. There was no doubt in his heart, mind or entire being that she would. He could tell from the look on her face, and the way he was feeling like they were both floating on air, that she was going to come back. Catching her hand as she was leaving, Darius gave it one last squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rosie.”

As she leaned into his touch, Ros turned her face inward until her smile was buried in the palm of his hand. “I love you, too,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut. Some part of her urged her to stay that way forever, for fear that the entire scene would dissolve like a dream if she were to reopen her eyes. But it wasn’t a dream, she reminded herself. She could feel the bar’s edge against her stomach and his hand on the small of her back. His breath was so close it sent her hair astray. She opened her eyes. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “At dawn, yeah? If s’not too early. I don’t reckon I’ll be able to sleep.” 

Darius could practically feel the warmth radiating through him as she smiled up at him. This was really happening, something he thought he’d ruined so long ago. His mind was whirling of thoughts, of where they would go and what they would do. He still had enough money left over from his parents, and his savings from the bar, that they could set themselves up. And then it would be entirely up to the two of them -- together.

“Could we?” Ros stared at him a moment, positively dumbstruck. It was as if he’d read her mind. The thought of running away with Darius had long been an impossible dream, but with four words from him it became a reality. It was as if he’d scooped the intangible fantasy from her mind and given it form. Made it as tactile as the bar that separated them. A smile fluttered on the corner of her mouth and swiftly turned to a peel of laughter. “We could,” she said. She gave a short hop and pushed herself further over the bar to kiss him. 

“We’ll go, Smiles. You ‘n I. Now. First thing in the morning.” She paused, pinkening a bit as she added, “I mean, if you’re keen. I don’t mean t’be presumptuous, yeah? But I am. Keen, I mean. Not presumptuous. I’ve never been keener.”

Darius let out a small laugh as Ros all but launched herself over the bar towards him, his hands going to her waist to make sure she didn’t fall. “We could,” he repeated, his voice not more than a whisper. What had always seemed like something so out of reach suddenly felt real, felt doable. With the world falling down around them, they could leave and build a world of their own.

Ros felt as though the light brush of his hand were the only thing anchoring her to the ground. The doubts and dread she’d carried with her for much of their relationship — and much of the time that followed — began to lift away. And though she’d never been any good on a broomstick, or particularly gifted when it came to levitation spells, she felt almost as if she could fly. “What do we do?” she whispered, elated. 

“What did you just say?” Ros lifted her hands to Darius’ face, her fingertips ghosting along his jaw. She stared at him, wide-eyed and uncertain. Even after all this time, the words felt too good to be true. She tried to retreat, but her heart was far stronger than her mind. What was danger to this heart-stopping, breathtaking, impossible love? “Me, of all people. After — after everything, I don’t — s’just, ‘mean —” she stopped. For once, the words did not build upon themselves. There was only stunned silence; a void that could only be filled with the words she couldn’t find the courage to say: Let’s run away. 

“I --” his confidence wavered slightly. The certainty that he’d felt before. He knew what he said was true, but now he’d said it he felt guilty. That he’d pulled her away from safety. But on the other hand he felt light. Like he’d been holding his breath and was finally able to breath again now he’d said those words. Looking at Ros, he knew that he would always choose her above all else. Nothing was going to change for him. She made him happier than anyone else ever good, like they were in a bubble and the world was passing them by. And those were the feelings that were stronger. The ones that outweighed all the worry, all the questions and uncertainties. “S’always you,” he murmured, his hand brushing her hair behind her ear. 

Ros’ ten-thousand excuses to leave — Reasons, Wendy would call them, Good reasons — flew out the window even before Darius kissed her. All he had to say was wait, and she was bound to him. As her hand clung furiously to the front of his shirt, she wondered if the two of them had ever been properly unbound. “Darius,” she said, barely managing a word much less a breath. “What are we doing?” she kissed him again. “What are we doing?” 

His heart was beating fast, almost ready to beat out of his chest, as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “I --” he started, his voice barely a whisper but sounding so loud in the silence of the pub. 

“Love you too. Still. Always, I think.”

Ros exhaled and, without meaning to, let out a chirp of laughter. A featherlight touch, a purposeful look — and she was ruined. A bird fighting furiously against a wind tunnel. Her hand felt suddenly bloodless where it lay on top of his. She did not know whether to tear it away it or hold on to him for dear life. “Well,” she managed, not yet daring to move. “You’d have to talk loads more to say less about me, yeah?” 

She paused a beat, hazarding a light squeeze of his wrist before drawing quickly away. “Just joking, you know?” Her eyes lingered a moment too long on his mouth, and she felt her face grow warm. “I — I ought to be going, I reckon.”

He felt himself laughing at her words, a genuine laugh, however small, leaving his lips for the first time in longer than he could remember. It felt good, warming him from the inside. The world around them was in pieces and so was he, but Ros always somehow managed to make it seem less bad. I — I ought to be going, I reckon. Her words caused a small frown to cross his face, a slight furrow in his brow. “Wait --” He didn’t want her to go. He didn’t know when he’d see her again, if they would stumble across each others paths like they had a few times in the past. Acting more on instinct than rational thought, his heart ignoring his head and everything he had been telling himself earlier, Darius’ hand went to her cheek, closing the gap between them. 

Rosie, and Ros’ heart began to fight against the confines of her chest. It was a furious, fluttering thing, at once too big and too small. Her eyes flit across his face, hoping to find some secret trace of something more in the slip of his smile, or the creases that sprouted from the corners of his eyes as he concentrated on the freshly polished glass in his hand. Darius, who had once left a pureblood girl for her, who had put his life in danger to walk away from those who would harm her, who had turned his back on his own family for the sake of their relationship, still cared for her and always would. It wasn’t a declaration of undying love, or a gut-wrenching ballad, or anything like Ros had imagined in the daydreams and fantasies she’d spun since she was a little girl, but after everything between them, she decided it was quite enough for her. “Always,” she repeated and loosened her grip on her glass. She reached out toward him and placed her own unsteady hand over his, putting a stop to his polishing. “You don’t say much, Darius, y’know that? But s’always the loveliest things when you do.”

“Always,” he repeated again, stressing the word as his eyes flickered down to where she’d put her hand on his. It had been the first time they had any sort of contact in almost a year but it felt natural, like it hadn’t been any time at all. In that moment, Darius felt like the past year of them being apart, of rarely seeing each other, hadn’t even happened. His feelings, although not the strong yearning of new love he’d once felt, never faded. The girls he’d been with to try and distract himself from the constant thoughts of her never dented. They were just distractions and were gone as quickly as they had arrived. It would always be her, he knew that. He’d always care. Always worry. Always wonder, and always love, no matter where their lives went. But he still couldn’t say those three words. It would be selfish to say it. He couldn’t put her life in that kind of danger again. Putting down the glass he was still holding, he stepped closer, giving her his undivided attention this time. 

“M’sorry — gone ‘n stepped in it again. I don’t — M’not expecting anything, Darius. Really. I know — I know I had my reasons, yeah? ‘N s’not as if they don’t matter anymore, but — but s’not as if you don’t either. You haven’t got to say anything,” Ros said and tightened her lips. In seconds flat, they were moving yet again, accompanied by several quick head shakes and a self-scolding huff. “I mean — nothing you don’t want to, yeah? Blimey.” 

“You --” Darius wasn’t sure how to respond. He knew what he wanted to say. He could say it back, and he wouldn’t be lying. Even after all this time, Ros was constantly in his thoughts like a shining beacon of light through the darkness around them. It was a battle of head and heart, of knowing that keeping her away from him would keep her safe versus the feeling that they could be happy and risk everything. Despite it all, he couldn’t help the flicker of a smile as she carried on in such typical Ros fashion. 

“Loads,” Ros answered without a beat, perking up in her seat before she could stop herself. Swallowing, she drew back into the barstool slowly and averted her eyes to the stack of glasses he’d just set straight. “’Mean — it means loads to me, anyway. ‘Specially after the way I went ‘n ended things.” 

“Well --” Darius frowned slightly as he talked. “Reckon you had your reasons.”

Ros nodded in agreement and took a bird-like sip from her juice, more to occupy her hands and mouth than to satisfy her thirst. She could hardly taste the juice, anyway, with her nerves so hopelessly tangled. “Ought to give yourself more credit, you know,” she finally said. “What you’ve done’s not easy in the best of times, never mind when things are the way they’ve been.” Ros smiled uneasily. “I’m right glad that you’re doing well. Are well. I… I’ve missed you, yeah?”

Darius ducked his head, suddenly finding a stubborn spot on one of the glasses in the hope that Ros wouldn’t see the smile that flickered across his face at her words. She’d always had that effect on him and, by the look of it, always would. 

“Which — mean, s’not an altogether bad thing. Gave you time to open up your own bar and everything, yeah? ‘N it’s spiffing, Darius. Just spiffing. I’m right proud. Dunno if I’d be keen to open a shoppe of my own, but I reckon it’s your door I’d come knocking on if I did decide to. ‘Course I’m quite happy to be at Madam Malkin’s. Cut hours are a shame, but then that’s hardly a unique problem. Loads of people are working less.” Ros paused to breathe and went pink. “My God, I’ve gone off.” 

Darius couldn’t help the amused expression that crossed his face as Ros rambled on in the classic Ros fashion he had grown to be fond of. “Ah, well -- wasn’t too hard. Was already set up, and already managed, so -- but you knew that,” he nodded, clearing his throat slightly as he began polishing the small stack of glasses in front of him that had been used that day. He rarely got customer’s these days, so the end of day cleanup was growing substantially easier. “S’good -- that she kept you on, though.”

“No, s’fine. Really. Mum’s always on about the importance of juice, yeah? Cranberry juice this ‘n orange juice that. Vitamins and all. Mean — don’t much care for tea or coffee, anyway. Not that it wasn’t lovely of you to offer.” Ros ran the tips of her fingers along the rim of her juice glass and ducked her chin, almost bashful. “Nice t’be around. Just the two of us. It’s been some time, yeah?”  

“Vitamins -- yeah.”