4th June, 1893 — Wildflowers & Daffy’s flat, Diagon Alley
It had been a week, thereabouts, since Daff had left the daffodils for him. A fortnight since the workshop disaster. Elias intentionally hadn’t written, at first. After all, he had told himself, she had left. She hadn’t wanted to be there, so the best thing he could do was give her space.
(He might have wanted to write, or better yet, to see her, because he had missed her; but Elias knew full well that missing her wouldn’t change anything if she still didn’t want to see him.)
And then he still hadn’t written, after the flowers, mostly because he didn’t know what to say. Sorry, he had tried, but he hadn’t sent it because he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was sorry for. And he hadn’t wanted her to think there had been anything to be sorry for in relation to Irene, because – well, there hadn’t been anything, as far as he knew.
Now... now things had altered in his mind, and missing her was good enough as a reason to try. He had lost one friendship this week without losing all possibility of hers too. He hadn’t come prepared – hadn’t brought anything with him as a peace offering, and hadn’t thought of it until he’d wound up outside of the closed shop front door with a pang of embarrassment. It was Sunday, after hours, most places in the street were closed; there was a faint dusting of sunlight still on everything. He wondered if it had rained here like it had in Hogsmeade yesterday. He wondered if she was really here.
“I – tried in Hogsmeade, but your sister said you were in London again,” Elias said uncertainly, when she came to the door. (He didn’t like it, Daffy being out here alone – but the thought left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, because if he said as much she would probably just insist she was fine.) He might look outwardly calm where he stood, but inwardly Elias felt like wringing his hands together as he looked her over, trying to get any sense he could of how she was, and how much she might possibly resent him. He bit the bullet, nonetheless. “Can I come in?”
(He might have wanted to write, or better yet, to see her, because he had missed her; but Elias knew full well that missing her wouldn’t change anything if she still didn’t want to see him.)
And then he still hadn’t written, after the flowers, mostly because he didn’t know what to say. Sorry, he had tried, but he hadn’t sent it because he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was sorry for. And he hadn’t wanted her to think there had been anything to be sorry for in relation to Irene, because – well, there hadn’t been anything, as far as he knew.
Now... now things had altered in his mind, and missing her was good enough as a reason to try. He had lost one friendship this week without losing all possibility of hers too. He hadn’t come prepared – hadn’t brought anything with him as a peace offering, and hadn’t thought of it until he’d wound up outside of the closed shop front door with a pang of embarrassment. It was Sunday, after hours, most places in the street were closed; there was a faint dusting of sunlight still on everything. He wondered if it had rained here like it had in Hogsmeade yesterday. He wondered if she was really here.
“I – tried in Hogsmeade, but your sister said you were in London again,” Elias said uncertainly, when she came to the door. (He didn’t like it, Daffy being out here alone – but the thought left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, because if he said as much she would probably just insist she was fine.) He might look outwardly calm where he stood, but inwardly Elias felt like wringing his hands together as he looked her over, trying to get any sense he could of how she was, and how much she might possibly resent him. He bit the bullet, nonetheless. “Can I come in?”
look ANOTHER beautiful bee!set <3