For once, she didn't miss the shift in his expression, the surprise. To her, the circumstances were so glaringly obvious that there could be no hidden subtext. But, if that were the case then why the shock? Jo thought to press him on it, to question what piece of the puzzle she was missing, and immediately thought better of it. Only friends had the right to pose questions and intrude, and they weren't friends.
Not anymore.
As if doused with cold water, Jo shrank back ino herself. Whatever understanding they were on the precipice of buried deep beneath the current of awkward tension. Jo dropped her gaze first to the floor then to the jar of floo powder. There had to be less than twenty minutes remaining in their hour, but the snow continued to only fall heavier outside. Fuck.
He was still on the arm of her chair, which meant she couldn't sink back into her original position as she wished to. Again, Jo thought of a plethora of responses and questions but sooner thought better of them. It just wasn't her place.
The minutes ticked by, each moving slower than the last, as they remained in the silent parlor together. Jo shifted on her feet, her gaze shifting from a spot on the carpet, to the discarded crumpled blanket, to the fireplace and back again. The snow was showing no signs of slowing and she was growing increasingly concerned about the feasibility of her escape. At this point, leaving through the front door would mean death. There was no way around it, not when she was in heavy skirts that would make it impossible to move quickly. The snow would become an anchor on her hems, her stockings would freeze against her skin, and before long she would be stuck in place for some random passerby to eventually find. And, while she might welcome the thought of death, the thought of not making it far enough from Alfred's home was enough to keep her from taking her chances. Jo couldn't run the risk of him being the random passerby.
Which left her with little options.
Eventually, Alfred made to leave the room, and were she less selfish Jo would have allowed him the very thing she had asked for only minutes prior. Instead, her drifting focus shot to him immediately and a sudden desperation clawed at her chest. This was it, he was going to walk away with such an unfavorable memory. Just as Zach and her parents and Juliana and all the rest would. And she simply couldn't fathom the thought of her sobbing and repeating her mantra of I'm fine being the last words shared. Someone had to have a decent memory of her. Alfred was the only one left that might, and even then he might not want to.
A heavy lump formed in her throat as she forced herself to say something before he was gone. Something he might want to remember. Something that might give weight and meaning to their otherwise failed friendship. With much effort, Jo managed to quietly say just as he was to leave the parlor, "I hope you know ... I don't ... I don't regret meeting you. There's much I would redo given a time turner, but not that. Even if you do, even if this was always bound to happen. I don't regret knowing you."
beautiful set by mj
![[Image: V9Vf0R0.png]](https://i.imgur.com/V9Vf0R0.png)
Not anymore.
As if doused with cold water, Jo shrank back ino herself. Whatever understanding they were on the precipice of buried deep beneath the current of awkward tension. Jo dropped her gaze first to the floor then to the jar of floo powder. There had to be less than twenty minutes remaining in their hour, but the snow continued to only fall heavier outside. Fuck.
He was still on the arm of her chair, which meant she couldn't sink back into her original position as she wished to. Again, Jo thought of a plethora of responses and questions but sooner thought better of them. It just wasn't her place.
The minutes ticked by, each moving slower than the last, as they remained in the silent parlor together. Jo shifted on her feet, her gaze shifting from a spot on the carpet, to the discarded crumpled blanket, to the fireplace and back again. The snow was showing no signs of slowing and she was growing increasingly concerned about the feasibility of her escape. At this point, leaving through the front door would mean death. There was no way around it, not when she was in heavy skirts that would make it impossible to move quickly. The snow would become an anchor on her hems, her stockings would freeze against her skin, and before long she would be stuck in place for some random passerby to eventually find. And, while she might welcome the thought of death, the thought of not making it far enough from Alfred's home was enough to keep her from taking her chances. Jo couldn't run the risk of him being the random passerby.
Which left her with little options.
Eventually, Alfred made to leave the room, and were she less selfish Jo would have allowed him the very thing she had asked for only minutes prior. Instead, her drifting focus shot to him immediately and a sudden desperation clawed at her chest. This was it, he was going to walk away with such an unfavorable memory. Just as Zach and her parents and Juliana and all the rest would. And she simply couldn't fathom the thought of her sobbing and repeating her mantra of I'm fine being the last words shared. Someone had to have a decent memory of her. Alfred was the only one left that might, and even then he might not want to.
A heavy lump formed in her throat as she forced herself to say something before he was gone. Something he might want to remember. Something that might give weight and meaning to their otherwise failed friendship. With much effort, Jo managed to quietly say just as he was to leave the parlor, "I hope you know ... I don't ... I don't regret meeting you. There's much I would redo given a time turner, but not that. Even if you do, even if this was always bound to happen. I don't regret knowing you."
