Saffron had looked tired when she came in, but when she saw down with her tea Calvin began to suspect she might be ill, too. Not a cold (maybe also a cold; it was that time of year), but the sort of nauseated feeling that made it difficult to make one's eyes focus. How was she going to get herself home like this? He'd have to follow her, in case she needed him. It was risky, because he couldn't stay here forever and he didn't know how long she might be here before she left for the evening, but he could hardly let her leave in this state. What if something happened to her? He never could have forgiven himself. No, he'd have to follow her home. He wished he could have done it without risk — if only they were at the point where he could have just offered to walk her home, and she might have accepted! But she still hadn't met him, at least that she knew of. There had been three occasions where they had exchanged words, actually. In the Ivy Leaf cafe she'd bumped into him in the line on her way out the door. Last winter in Padmore Park they had been crossing paths and he'd let a bookmark slip out of the pages of the book he was carrying, and she had stopped him to give it back. They'd had a brief conversation about the weather — it was cold enough that they were both bundled up and there was no chance of her recognizing him later, so he had been feeling especially bold and was thrilled at being able to actually talk to her. In the spring he'd been at a Quidditch game and part of the stands had needed to be closed off — the Tutshill Tornadoes may have cut some corners on their latest construction, it seemed. She had been at the edge of the tape while the rest of her department crawled through the stands like ants; he'd asked mildly if she thought he would get a refund on his ticket. She did not remember any of those, or at least not well enough to tie them back to him.

He could have turned the interaction at the Quidditch game into a real conversation. That could have been how they met. He could have been charming and just distracting enough to keep her mind off the noise. Then they might have kept meeting, by coincidence, and eventually grow fond of each other, and then he'd be able to offer to walk her home now.

(No he couldn't have. A Quidditch match was the wrong venue entirely. She was never going to be fond of someone who tried to talk to her while she was overwhelmed like that. He knew that. Wistful thinking, in hindsight.)

She stood up. She still looked disoriented. Calvin didn't want her to leave, both because she continued to look unwell and because he wasn't ready to let her go yet. He was powerless to stop her, of course... but something propelled him to his feet, slipping out of the chair he'd been in. He didn't look at her as he walked, or give any indication that he had noticed either the noise of the chair or her apology for it. He made his way to the tea service, and he got there before her without having to rush — he'd been at the back of the room already, and far closer to it. She'd be headed this direction, to return her mug to the dirtied dishes area. He still had half a mug of tea back at his table but pretended he didn't and filled the kettle with more water. He was just closing the tap when she approached.

"Another cup?" he asked, with a nod towards the kettle. "I can put water on for you."

---

The following 1 user Likes Calvin Paxton's post:1 user Likes Calvin Paxton's post
   Saffron Whitby