Ugh, he wasn't getting anywhere with this. He thought seeing her in person—talking to her—rather than trying to express himself through letters would make this easier, but it wasn't. Not at all.

With an exasperated sigh, Edric walked straight in her direction until they stood face-to-face again. It both made seeing her easier and grasping her expressions; observing her body language was important, especially when she was being stubborn still. "I care about you, February. I have plenty of reasons to not want to care—none of them specific to you—but I can't help how I feel."

Was this the right way to do it? He didn't know.

"I panicked in that moment. I regretted it as soon as I told you..." Why was this so hard? She was just a woman for fuck's sake, yet it didn't feel that way. "... when I told you I thought I liked the kiss."

With a sigh in resignation, he reached up and used his thumb to pull her chin up to look at him.

"I'm sorry. I was an ass."

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   February Umbridge

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— set by MJ! —

This was the most direct response she'd ever gotten out of him. The way he marched right up to her, she held her breath, he was far too close for her to think clearly, but everything that spilled out after washed over her in slow realization.

What he was saying was what she thought she wanted to hear; to hear that he cared about her, that he regretted what he did, that he was sorry. Yet she wasn't sure it was having the impact she wanted. It should have given her some relief and perhaps there was a little, but something wasn't sitting right. She could feel the pit of unease sitting in her stomach, like she was missing something that he wasn't telling her.

He had plenty of reasons not to care that weren't specific to her? That set her a little on edge, even as he tipped her face up to look at him, she had no idea what in the  name of Merlin's beard he could mean by that. With her eyes concentrated on his, she searched for something, any kind of clue as to what was preventing her from taking his words at face value.

"I have never, ever been treated like that in my entire life." Her tone was even, quiet, as calm as she could muster without letting her voice catch. "Nobody has ever brought me to tears the way you have." She could feel them prickling at the corners of her eyes now. However she hadn't said that to make him feel guilty, she said it to let him know just how much his words and actions had stung. There was  a depth to this she didn't think either one of them was prepared for and that was what was holding her back.

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He felt a pang in his chest. Fuck, she was going to cry, and he was not at all prepared to handle that. Why couldn't she get angry and punch him? Why couldn't she mock him, scream even—why watering eyes and pain-filled admissions? Anything would be better, though he supposed the best scenario was to get a smile.

"Shhh," he hushed, tracing his thumb up her cheek and smoothing a finger over her brow bone. "I should have been more careful; I shouldn't have let my own reservations cause you pain."

The sensitivity was coming easier now; looking at her near tears, it was similar to trying to comfort a heartbroken wife whose husband had been slaughtered, or a mother who'd lost a child in an attack. The most difficult part was coping with his own role in her suffering; he still didn't know how to explain the reasons behind his own fears, as he'd never taken the time to completely rationalize them. They'd always just been there.

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— set by MJ! —

The anger bubbled up all too easily, quickly and white-hot. Though it probably wasn't what he intended, being shushed only gave her the impression he didn't want to hear what she was saying.

"Don't you shush me. I'm not some child you can lull into forgiveness with quiet words and a caress of the cheek " She snapped, though it was still quiet. Febby stepped backwards, flinching away from his touch, before stepping forwards just as fast to shove him even further away.

"I just want you to be fucking honest with me." She shoved him again, though this time it was half-hearted. Was that so hard? Too much to ask? It seemed like every one of their interactions wound up going in circles somehow. Merlin all she wanted to do was punch him.

Tears of frustration welled up in the corners of her eyes and she wiped at them furiously. That was twice now, and enough was enough. She wasn't going to stand here and listen to him try and placate her, despite his best intentions. His communication skills sucked and she was fucking tired of it. He was either going to give her a real fucking reason or she was gone.

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There it was: the anger.

A temporary relief washed over him, but it didn't last long; though he understood her best when her anger was flaring up, there were still tears there and he didn't know how to handle those. He let out another deep breath to calm himself—now wasn't really time for an argument, especially when he was on the edge with his emotions.

He let her shove him away, just for a moment, but soon found himself taking another step towards her. "I'm not shushing you," he bickered lightly, though no expression of anger found its way to his face. "Just—tell me what you want to know. Exactly what you'd like to know."

There was no need to go telling her things that would piss her off.

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— set by MJ! —

February stepped back as soon as he stepped forward. She needed distance to think clearly, but she didn't even know what to think. There wasn't a lot of room between her and the ivy-covered wall of the garden and she knew if she backed herself into a corner there would be no way out. Wiping away at the last of the frustrated tears, Febby was too angry now to be that emotional. It flared fast with her, but then she smoldered for a long time, low and slow.

He was being annoyingly calm about this; Febs wasn't sure how to react. She didn't want to argue, not really and she especially didn't want to have a one-sided argument. If she were being honest, which she was trying really hard to be, she didn't even know what it was exactly that she wanted out of him.

Running her hands over her face, she brushed her hair out of her way so she could look at him better. "I don't even know." She blew out, frustrated with herself for being so indecisive. "How can you be so careless with what you say? Why would you say something you don't mean?" That was a decent place to start, she supposed.

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The questions she was hitting him with her similar to the ones that filled his letters. He'd at least had time to ponder those, but that hadn't meant that he'd come to a firm conclusion. There had to be an answer though, right?

"I don't know," he answered defensively. "I suppose- well, speaking with you feels more natural that it does with other ladies; I suppose I let social niceties escape me." That was his first mistake. Maybe he should have paid more attention to how she addressed her—and he would start by calling her Miss Lynch again.

"—and as for the latter question." He paused. That answer was much more complicated, and it would likely lead to more questions that had no rational answer in his head. Well, he'd give it a shot.

"In that moment, I was afraid that if I didn't hurt you, you might have me stay. I- I wasn't thinking," he responded with an peeved huff, though any annoyance on his part was directed at himself. "I acted impulsively—you have that power over me and I can't wrap my mind around it. I'm an auror; we're trained not to be impulsive. That isn't something that usually happens." Surely she saw that, right?

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— set by MJ! —

February wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a mere statement of fact, but either way she supposed it made sense. Their entire relationship had been improper and informal on one level or another. That didn't mean that he could be so careless with what he said to her; she still had feelings.

"Stay?" What, in her family house, with the rest of them there? Had he lost his mind? "You act as if I'm not capable of holding my own here, like I have absolutely no say in the decisions made between us." And there was something between them, whether either one of them was ready to admit it or not.

"Being impulsive when it comes to something like this is not necessarily a bad thing; this is not your job. However, you have to make a decision whether or not it's something you want." Though being impulsive had served her pretty well so far.

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She didn't understand, which he supposed was more his fault than hers. Letting his fears be known was something else he'd been trained not to do on the job; anyone who knew what scared him could use it against him, even though this fear wasn't one criminals could use against him. In the end, it seemed everything came down to his job.

"I know you can hold your own," he insisted, refraining from moving closer when she seemed so intent on moving away from him. "What I'm trying to say is you've probably had more kisses in the past five years than I have, Miss Lynch—and that says more about me than you." For fuck's sake.

"Trysts, relationships, romance—those aren't things I do. I'm not good at them, but I'm sure you've noticed that." Fleeing in the middle of a kiss didn't exactly scream romantic, did it? "It's not something I usually have to worry about, though," he added, "I don't usually have a woman stuck in my mind."

That wasn't what mattered, though, he deduced. It was her pain he should be worrying about.

"What do you want, Miss Lynch?"

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— set by MJ! —

Circles, always in circles. Febby could get dizzy from the amount of times they went around one another in a conversation. And they'd circled back to the part where she was a harlot, great. She huffed out an exaggerated sigh, blowing a stay strand of hair from her face in the process.

Clearly he wasn't any good at those things, even a blind man could see that much. This was ridiculous, they weren't getting anywhere. The reasons he had didn't make sense to her and he couldn't see her side either. If she could just get that damn kiss out of her head, she could forget about this whole thing and move on.

What did she want though... "I want you to use my fucking given name, as ridiculous as it is, I think we're long past simpering through miss and mister, Edric." Maybe that was where this whole trouble had started, but she wasn't going to just go backwards at this point.

"Beyond that, you either need to kiss me again or go home so I can start moving on from this. Just because I can't get you out of my head today, doesn't mean I can't tomorrow or a week from now, but you need to make the choice. What is it you want?" There. He had to choose whether or not he wanted her there or not. Whether he walked away or if he kissed her now and never again, at least she was honest about it and that she could live with.

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The following 1 user Likes February Umbridge's post:1 user Likes February Umbridge's post
   Edric Umbridge

Well... he didn't know what he'd expected, but once again she'd managed to surprise him. Her bluntness was one of the most endearing things, and her words—despite their vulgarity—made his heart jump. It had become blatantly clear that he was Edric to her now, and that his belief that returning to propriety was not the way to save their... well, whatever they had. Labels were the last thing on his mind, though—not with her next words.

He couldn't even respond to her, not with a blunt request that removed any question of permission from the equation. Before he could even logically think through what he was doing and the spiel he'd literally just given her, his impulse took over and the gasp between them was closed. His body practically slammed into hers, his arms wrapping around her waist possessively and his lips capturing hers.

Two evenings ago had been a slow progression from conversation from kissing—there had been flirting, teasing, and then the sudden the pent-up tension between them had finally burst—but tonight brought an immediate move from anger to passion. And it was just right, at least in his mind.

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— set by MJ! —

Proud of the fact that she'd managed to surprise him, Febs kept an eye on his reaction, heart pounding in anticipation of his next move. To say she'd have been disappointed if he'd decided to walk away would have been an understatement- but she would have lived.

Something changed though, the air between them almost vibrated with tension, as impulsivity took over yet again. Her breath caught in her throat, she felt that tug of desire, the shiver of anticipation when she felt his hands on her again, quickly followed by his lips on hers. It was raw and consuming, she'd never felt anything quite like it. Febs poured herself into the kiss in turn, hands siding to up over his chest and shoulders, itching for something to hold onto and finally tangled in his hair as best she could.

She'd nearly lost her balance when his body had collided with hers; no counter to lean on this time meant the only thing she had to rely on was him. Body pressed flush against his, there was no room to get closer, but she tried anyway as if she could simply melt into him.

Nipping at his bottom lip, Feb had to catch her breath and leaned back ever so slightly, the breaths coming in short ragged gasps as her head tilted back for just enough breathing room.

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The other night had been a moment of passion that he hadn't expected to last longer than a minute or two even if he hadn't chosen to flee when he was hit with a wave of emotions. They'd been in her family's kitchen while everyone slept in the bedrooms upstairs; the threat of someone coming down and catching them had been so high that he wouldn't have even thought of going beyond the kiss they shared. He was impulsive, yes, but not stupid.

Here though... they were alone. There was no one who would come looking for them in this abandoned garden that had been long-abandoned by the tenants of the home and the Auror Office. They were safe here—for now—and he was determined to let off steam for as long as she was comfortable.

Words, having been the direct source of their fight before, were not an option at the moment. Rather than completely pulling back at the sign that she needed to breathe, he allowed his lips to trail across her cheek, down her jaw, and onto the part of her neck that wasn't covered by her dress. In his best attempt to stifle a moan at her hair-pulling, he instinctively bit down and moved his hands farther down her back.

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— set by MJ! —

If anyone had told her those letters were going to lead her to an abandoned, fog-ridden garden just last night, she would have laughed herself to tears. Yet here she was, getting all kinds of improperly close to the single most vexing man she'd ever met in her entire life. The worst part was that she couldn't get enough.

Febby read just enough romance novels, the not so innocent kind, to know this had all the potential to be fun; that it was supposed to feel good. It was hard to imagine otherwise as she felt his lips on her neck, his hands, hot on her back, even though the layers of clothing between his skin and hers. Inhaling sharply at the likely bruise he'd just given her, Febs grinned and bit her lip. "No marks." She reminded him, but couldn't help the low, throaty chuckle that followed.  

Febby let her hands wander, dancing over whatever exposed skin she could find, which was woefully little. Just enough room at the collar of his shirt to slide her fingers under the fabric along his neck before trailing elsewhere along his jaw. She was not quite desperate enough to go for the buttons of his shirt... Yet.

Once she was able to catch her breath, just a little, she nudged his head aside,  pressing her lips to his jaw and the sensitive spot where she knew his pulse would be, pleased to find it just as rapid as hers was. She'd learned a thing or two thanks to a couple of seriously good snogging sessions in her last year of school and was not above using them now.

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He smiled against her skin, pressing a soft kiss against the spot where he'd probably just left at least a bruise before pulling back at the feeling of her hands wandering. He wasn't sure where to put his lips or hands, especially with hers wandering so rapidly. He let out a sound that was a mixture between a groan and a whine and pressed his lower half against hers in a desperate search for some semblance of relief; unfortunately, with so many layers between them, he was left with a fistful of fabric and not enough friction.

A few nights ago he'd told her that he hadn't thought she was the type of woman to do this sort of thing—and it was still true, but in the best possible way. He couldn't imagine their relationship moving forward without these moments to let off some of the tension between them; if she was some sort of horrible prude, this would never work.

At the feeling of her lips on his pulse point, he let out a hissed "Fuck, February," and allowed his hands to wander in search of skin, much like she'd done. Damn women's dresses and their modesty.

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   February Umbridge

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— set by MJ! —

His oath had her grinning. She tipped her head back to look at him, face flushed, wicked grin and wild eyes.  If she were a normal girl she'd probably be calling for help right about now. However, as she'd already done with him, she was playing fast and loose with propriety. That said, she wouldn't let it go too far, not here, not right now. She did have to say, as big of a pain as this fog was, it was handy today.

Though he wasn't much taller, he was broader than she was and every time he pressed forward, she had to move back, otherwise they were going to fall over. Eventually that closed the short distance to the wall behind her, and not gently either. It was the counter from the other night all over again. That had her grinning too.

With better leverage, Febby could release her grip on his robes. She kissed him again, slowing down just a smidge, she took her time to savor the kiss. It gave her just enough time to undo the top buttons at the neck of her dress and expose just a little more skin.

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