Sweetheart
"Leigh, what is this?"
She almost jumped at the change in his tone, not ready for the harshness it suddenly held. Her head whipped towards him, seeing him still holding the sleeve in his hands, this time with her hand peeking out underneath the end of the fabric. Her still bandaged hand stuck out like a sore thumb.
Shit.
She had strted to grow numb to the feeling of the injury by now, and being here got her mind off everything, like it normally did. She felt stupid not being able to hide it better. Quickly pulling the hand out of his grasp, Leigh let it fall safely under the cover of both her own and Fred's jumper, hoping he could let it go. Knowing he wouldn't.
"Leigh." He said again, stricter this time, and she glanced up at him. The signature joyful energy was nowhere to be seen. "Why haven't you been up to the hospital wing or used a healing spell on this?" His voice was suddenly firm, yet clouded with genuine confusion. His tone harsher than before.
She didnt have the words, her mouth felt dry. She shrugged, mumbled, "It just...slipped my mind."
Fred stopped a scoff from escaping his lips. Just by the amount of blood he saw seeping through the bandage 2 days ago when she dropped off his jacket he knew that it was a serious injury. There is no way she wouldn't notice it and have it slip her mind for those few days.
"Don't give me that," he shut her down firmly, gaze not leaving her form, studying her every move and expression. "Why haven't you?"
She made no move to reply, merely letting herself sink into the couch, fiddling with her fingers and the bandage under the cover of her sleeve. She didn't know whether to cower or bite back.
"You have to talk to me."
"I don't have to do anything Fred," she snapped agitatedly, returning a scorching gaze. "I already told you, it slipped my mind. I was busy. What's the big deal."
He looked like he was slightly taken aback by her tone, only prompting him to push further, his brows furrowing angrily in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me? The big- the big deal is that you've been walking around with an injury the last couple of days and you're acting like you don't mind it."
She rolled her eyes at his words, a breathy laugh rising in her throat, matching, or even surpassing, his mood. "Alright, you're just making things up now," she spoke as she stood up from the couch, not knowing where she wanted to go except away from here. She really didn't need this right now.
He quickly followed suit, standing up beside her, his tall frame angled her way as he spoke harshly. "What the hell is it then? I know it didn't slip your mind. You know it can be fixed, it takes a second."
Beneath his words and angry tone he could feel an anxiousness sweep through him – a worry about the answer. Something wasn't right. The way she kept averting his gaze. The way he saw how her hand fiddled with and pressed against the bandage just out of cover of her sleeve.
He could see the frustration bubbling in her eyes as she spoke again. "Look, it's not a big deal. I'll fix it, just– just leave me alone!"
"I'm not doing that," he said firmly, crossing his arms.
Her gaze shot daggers his way as she thought over her next move. "Fine," she spat finally. She turned around, dropping the blankets behind her onto the floor and immediately walking in the direction of the stairs which led down into the shop.
Fred dropped his arms to his sides as he angrily clenched his jaw, soon taking two quick steps towards her to grab onto her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
She whipped around, newfound anger coursing through her veins and bubbling up to the surface. "What the fuck is your problem?" Her eyes were blazing. She had enough.
"My problem is that you chose to be in pain and–"
"So what if I do!" Leigh's curt words were followed by silence, only her heavy breathing heard in the room.
Her face still contorted in anger, and Fred's expression fell as her words sank in, his eyes widening. She didn't give him an opportunity to speak before she continued, each word as lethal as the last. She was caught up in the fire coursing beneath her skin. It was as if it had been lying there in wait, patient for the right moment.
"It's my body!" She ripped her arm from his grip and pushed him back by the chest, accentuating her words. The burst of violence barely moved him, but his expression showed he wasn't expecting it. "It has nothing to do with you! Leave me alone!"
The anger had completely dropped from his voice as he spoke again, quieter. "Leigh..."
"For God's sake, fuck off!" Her hands moved up into the air, her gaze bouncing around the room. "I don't want your help! I just want to be alone! Can you just leave me alone– !"
Her words were cut off by two hands firmly placing themselves on each side of her face, pulling her out of her thoughts as Fred caught her gaze. His hands held her jaw in a firm yet gentle grip, forcing her to look up at him.
He saw her in that moment. Saw her anger, her frustration and her wide eyes as her chest heaved. Saw how her previously angry expression faltered and how she quietly crumbled under his gaze as the seconds ticked by, her eyes glistening. She suddenly felt sick, a deep, stabbing nausea rising in her throat, like some twisted comedown engulfing her. Despite her loud voice and angry words she couldn't keep it up, and she felt her chest restricting her airflow, no longer functioning and instead making her breathing chapped and irregular.
He noticed, and one of his hands slid from its grip on her jaw, instead moving its way down onto her shoulder. He explored her face, gently nudging her towards him, the other hand still holding the side of her jaw faintly, ready to place itself upon the back of her head when needed.
"Leigh?"
Her wide and uncertain eyes flicked up to his again. Seeing the warmth in his ones. He nudged her again, his palm on her shoulder. "Come here sweetheart," he said quietly, and Leigh let herself slowly lean into his embrace, letting herself be inched closer and closer to his chest.
A second later he was holding her, one hand creeping around her upper back, the other nestled in her hair. For a moment she didn't know how to react, her body tense and eyes wide, but soon enough the feeling of being between someones arms transformed the small ounce of anger she had left into a mixture of emotions she couldn't control. She let herself be embraced as she desperately fought the tears, failing miserably as the drops started forming in her eyes and she balled his shirt in her fists upon his back.
An unexpected, painful sob racked through her body, one neither she nor Fred was prepared for, scratching up her dry throat.
"It's okay," Fred reassured quietly, his hand pressing itself against her back, keeping her close to his chest. He didn't know half of what she needed, but the way she crumbled beneath his gaze... he wanted her to know she could lean on him.
A moment after his words, his confirmation that she could let it go, the sobs only seemed to multiply in her chest, painfully forcing their way up. Her grief, her anger, her frustration with her inability to navigate her own emotions, all coursed through her veins and her hands fisted his shirt even tighter upon his back, her body sinking into his chest heavily, pushing against him with her upper body, hoping the pressure would somehow easen the pressure in her head and chest.
Although she tried to limit them, the sobs squeezed their way up her throat, roughly falling from her lips one by one. Fred's arms seemed to hold her even tighter, fingertips almost digging into her skin, letting her know that she could let it go. Her body shook with each sound, moving unpredictably in his arms as she finally stopped resisting it, letting it wash over her, hoping she wouldnt drown in the pain in the process.
"Shit," Fred mumbled to himself, holding her tighter if that was even possible; caressing her hair and holding her steadily onto him. "It'll be okay."
She shook her head against his chest, gripping his shirt tighter. She said nothing, not sure she could formulate any words at all, but inside she knew the truth: it wasn't okay, and it never would be again.
It went on for what felt like hours, and Leigh was left wondering how deep this pit in her chest actually was – it felt never-ending, bottomless, infinite. Somewhere along the line her legs failed her, and the two of them sank into the couch, her still being unable to control her breathing.
Eventually her chapped and uncontrolled breathing calmed, her sobs transforming into nothing but whimpers, and the only thing heard throughout the room being her faint breaths.
The side of her face was leaning against Fred's chest, his fingers carefully combing through her hair, putting soft pressure against her scalp. Her arms, previously tense upon his back, had fallen to his sides, one draped over his thigh, tired. Her legs no longer restless. She felt exhausted. Fred could see it too. He saw how her wet cheeks glistened under her closed eyes, and the way her chest rose and fell after she had done her best to regulate her breathing.
She pulled away not long after, softly, only a few inches. Eyes still closed like she didn't want to come back to reality just yet. She took another breath before fluttering her eyes open. Fred's arms were still loosely wrapped around her, his grip relaxed in case she wanted to move away.
She sniffled, still not wanting to meet his gaze. Instead she let her gaze hover over the white fabric of his dress-shirt, furrowing her brows as she registered the bloody smudge she had caused. Her lip had torn open even more during her sobbing.
She smiled tiredly, or tried to, and pointed to the spot. "I'm sorry about that," she spoke hoarsely. Her face transformed into a solemn expression again and she looked away, sniffling. Her throat felt scratchy.
Fred, who had been studying her expressions intently so far, glanced down at his shirt before looking at her lips. Softly he grasped her chin in his hand, angling her face towards him. She complied with his every movement, eyes glazed and detatched. The back of his finger grazed across her torn bottom lip, and he pulled it back only for a velvet droplet to neatly present itself upon his skin. While it wasn't his intention, he expected her to wince, or show any indication of pain, but to his surprise she didn't move a muscle, a static expression on her face.
His eyes focused on her lips, then his finger, and then tried to catch her gaze, looking at her deeply and genuinely.
"I don't want to see you hurt," he spoke, tone gentle but strict as he shook his head. He absentmindedly swiped the bloody smudge on his finger against his dress shirt.
She couldn't help but let out a faint, breathy chuckle at his words. Physical pain was the least of her worries. Once she knew how to use it, it became an asset.
"I'm serious Leigh." He looked deeply into her eyes. She sniffled again.
"Okay," she finally murmured. She was sorry for the mess she had caused, now getting him entangled in her problems. She had no words to describe how she felt, and even if she did she wouldn't want to push those feelings upon him. Guilt for breaking down like this in front of him already started to gnaw at her.
Leigh was pulled from her thoughts by the feeling of Fred's hand, again, softly running through her hair, making her relax slightly. She attempted to pull herself together, letting her right hand rub against the corner of her eye, where the skin was now sore and red, while she absentmindedly leaned into his touch. He spoke again, quietly, his hand reaching for hers by her side.
"Now let me fix this for you." His voice was not louder than a whisper as the words left his lips, his fingertips gently grazing over the skin of her left hand. She instinctively flinched and looked down with a gulp, eyes taking in the view of the bandage. Her fist instinctively clenched, and she immediately felt that familiar ripple of pain shoot through her – the kind that somehow made her world quieten down, if only for a moment.
"Don't...do that." She heard his voice as his hand enclosed around hers, prompting her to open her palm.
She couldn't help but be worried about how she would feel once it was fixed. Would she feel worse, if that was even possible? How would she be able to manage the nights?
A combination of emotions rushed through her; nervousness, embarrassment, shame. However, when she met Fred's gaze she couldn't see any trace of judgement or disgust swirling in his irises, like she had anticipated. His eyes were round, gaze soft, the brown colour comforting and warm. He looked at her patiently, gaze almost begging her to say yes and let him fix her.
After examining his face for yet another second, Leigh nodded uncertainly, letting him know he was free to do his best. He diverted his gaze to her hand, carefully removing the bandage which clad her skin. She could see him almost unnoticeably shaking his head as he came face to face with the gash: the redness surroundings it and the dried blood sticking to her skin.
Softly, as if any sudden movement would shatter it, he held her hand in his big ones, his thumb faintly caressing the side of her palm. Then, faintly, without his wand, he said the word – "Episkey" – and a warm and tingly feeling started to spread through her hand, her gash slowly healing up.
His gaze lingered on her palm a second longer before his irises rose to hers, his eyes glossy. She gulped, not daring to say anything, thinking her voice would fail her. The sight of him with glossy eyes was new to her.
Instead of speaking he lifted her hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss upon the palm of her hand before caressing it one last time, leaving it lying in her lap. His arms embraced her again, wrapping around her like the glove to a hand, softly letting out a breath against her hair.