Maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard
And maybe that's just fine as long as you're here in my arms


Alfred's letter had come at a bit of a shock, both because of the revelation and the nature of his request. He was cursed and wanted her company as a distraction. Which, she supposed, was fine, but hadn't they established where they stood? Jo liked Alfred, wanted to listen to his stories until he had no more to share, but she didn't — couldn't want anything more than that. There was a history between Alfred and Zelda, one Jo might never be privy to but was certain of given Zelda's attitude, and she refused to lose either friend by getting involved with him further. Drinking partners was okay, friends were even better, but they had to stop there. They had to.

Or so Jo kept telling herself.

If he wasn't potentially dying Jo might have begged off, found some appropriate excuse until he caught the hint (if only to prevent herself from causing Zelda harm). However, not even she was heartless enough to deny a dying man's wish. Not when that man was as good a man as Alfred. As such, Jo swiftly removed whatever customers from the shop and floo'd home to gather some things. His letter suggested she'd be staying overnight at the least, and she very much doubted he had spare women's clothes lying about.

With her small handbag slung over her shoulder, Jo arrived in Alfred's flat. Hopefully, her quick transfigurations would hold out. Such magic had never been her forte. "Alfred?" Jo called out once she didn't immediately see him. Fuck, had he already died?! Not even the full hour had passed since receiving his letter. It couldn't have happened that fast, could it?!