She's talking. How long since she had entered the room? Couldn't have been long, yet at that moment it feels like an eternity. An eternity of noise. Her voice isn't always so annoying, is it? He imagines not, or he would never have enjoyed her company. He does usually... these days. Doesn't he? Merlin's beard but his day couldn't get any worse. He was tired. And tense, he thought as he raked a hand over his painful head. And so very annoyed. "Would you just go?!" he hears his own voice snap over his office and nearly flinches as it seems to echo between his already pounding temples. He doesn't bother looking up. For a long moment, the only sound is the scratch of furious writing, and he holds his breath expecting to get his way. She’d quietly leave the room and he would have some time for himself. She probably wouldn’t be happy with him, but she’d be asleep by the time he intended to join her in bed (if he would sleep at all tonight) and will hopefully have forgotten his little outburst by tomorrow. Pinching his nose, he heaves a frustrated sigh as he hears her speak again, her voice quiet and collected: “I’ll leave you to it then. You know where to find me when you’re in the mood for company again.”
He could hear her turn away and leave the room as she quietly closed the door. He stilled as he processed her words. His head lifted, his eyes seemingly gazing through the door as he listened for any activity, expecting to hear her channeling frustration as she normally would: a clatter as she stirred her tea just a bit too vigorously with a frustrated huff he knew so well; a dull thud as she dropped her extensive reading material with a barely perceptible purse of her lips; or the classic if-it-were-anyone-else-who-didn’t-normally-move-with-the-grace-of-a-garden (or library)-fairy-and-a-quietness-rivaled-only-by-the-infamous-spymaster-himself-you-couldn’t-even-call-it-that stomping as she busied herself by tidying one corner or another. Thanks to the house elves and the meticulousness of both occupants (with everything but the books and papers strewn about the apartment), said corners were never actually in need of tidying, meaning she would usually only create a mess. He almost smiled at the thought before realizing he was surrounded by a deafening quiet. His heart started hammering as his mind began to race. She left. She left and it’s my fault. I drove her away like I did Lily, like I do everyone. Only I don’t care about everyone, and she is so much more than Lily ever was because she is everything and now she’s gone and it’s my fault. And I’m alone again. All alone like I was before and like I always will be now because she’s gone and it’s my fault because I told her to go and leave me alone, so she did. She left. While his body filled with dread - and what could only be lead -, his head felt like it was filled with cotton yet it might float away, his heart continued to beat against his constricting lungs as blood rushed in his ears and tears pricked his eyes. He shot from his seat, vaguely noticing his trembling hands before he dove for the door, the ache of his hip colliding with the desk going unnoticed as he struggled with the doorknob. Then suddenly the door swung against the wall with force and she looked at him in surprise. Taking in the blurry sight of her relaxed form on the sofa, peacefully reading one of his books, he stumbled toward her and fell to his knees. “I thought you left.” The ragged whisper was all he could get out, his hands clutching her skirt as he burrowed his head in her lap. Her surprise at his entrance long gone and replaced by the moisture in her own eyes, she put aside her book and stroked his hair and shoulders, offering words of comfort and reassurance.