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A handful of One-Shots detailing possible personalities for the unknown Ravenclaw named Kevin Entwhistle, whose character drop-down box listed only one lonely fic when I searched it (admittedly a while ago).
"thunder trail"
'cause i've been too long a lonely man
yes, i've been too long a rolling stone
( house ; patrick wolf )
- - K. Entwhistle/D. Greengrass - -
He never thought he'd find himself in this situation; at the mercy of torrential rainfall, his floppy brown hair plastered to his forehead and a haggard bouquet of peace lilies held loosely by his side as he faces a woman's door, preparing to proclaim everlasting love.
He's a philanderer and a womaniser and an unruly mess of a boy. He doesn't do romance, not when one pretty girl has always been more or less the same as all the others, yet here he stands, drenched and shivering, gathering the courage to knock against the red-painted wood.
There is definitely something wrong with him, he decides as the golden number thirty-eight stares arrogantly back at him from the door's perfect centre, daring him to make his move.
"Sod off," the irrepressible Kevin growls at it, before taking the moment by the throat.
His loud knocks are followed by the click of the latch and the door is hastily swung open to reveal a young blonde woman. Wrapped up in an oversized olive jumper and psychedelic tights, she takes one look at him and promptly tries to slam the door in his face. His shoulder halts its progress and he forces it open again.
Her face is as stormy as the clouds assembling above and for a moment he wonders what on earth he's doing here – because there is no conceivable way she's going to take him back, not after his appalling behaviour throughout their last encounter.
She folds her arms defensively across her chest and cocks her hip to the side.
"You've got five minutes to explain yourself, Entwhistle, and if I never want to see you again after that, you'd better manage it," she hisses. She's back to last names, and he privately admits that maybe he deserves her wrath; he hasn't been the most courteous of men of late.
The rain is getting heavier, and a flash of sheet lightning illuminates the dull, grey street, followed almost immediately by a mighty crack of thunder, the bulk of its power unleashed directly above them. The loudness of its call causes Daphne to flinch, but her eyes are glued to his, waiting for an answer, an apology, or an explanation – perhaps all three.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Daph," Kevin declares. "I was a git because I was terrified and you made me care, and I've never felt like that before meeting you. Last time I saw you I didn't know what I wanted, and for that I'm sorry," he tells her, and she squirms just slightly, but that's all he needs. At least some of his plaintive speech is piercing her armour.
"But now I do. I know exactly what I want," he continues. "I want you. I want you leaving half-finished glasses of water all over my apartment and singing along to the radio at six in the morning and ordering ridiculously flamboyant drinks every time we go out; I want to wake up every day and have you next to me, feeling your cold feet kicking me in the night because I've stolen all the sheets and tangled all the blankets." He pauses, looking at her through long eyelashes with hopeful eyes and an uncharacteristically shy smile. "I think I love you, Greengrass."
She's biting her lip and hugging her arms tightly around herself. She looks lovely.
"Now tell me, Daph. What do you want?" he asks her quietly - pleadingly.
"I, I don't-" She stumbles over the words.
"The truth, my girl, that's all I'm asking for," he interrupts before she can throw a denial at him. She looks torn standing there in the doorway, her beauty equal to a fallen angel, one of her slender hands hovering over her mouth as if it will physically prevent her from answering his question.
"Please," he says simply before the final tap that fractures her resolve like glass: "That's all that's left to find out."
She cries out in frustration, her clenched hands rising to her temples, and then the words come tumbling out: "I want you, okay? I want your stupid, immature humour, and your chaotic living spaces, and your constant invasions of personal space!"
The flowers are thrown to lie forgotten in a shallow puddle as Kevin crosses the threshold to press his sodden form against Daphne's dry warmth (at least one of her desires coming true with the action). With his hands on either side of her face he kisses her with every emotion he can muster. They stumble back against the wall and her legs hook around his waist even as her arms slide around his neck and nothing – nothing – in his life has ever felt so right. Her eyes are closed, and she may or may not be crying, but all he can think is that, for once, he's made the right decision.
End, option one.
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