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Prompt: Two people meet by a lake. One of them is pretending to be somebody else.

Rowboat

"Why are you here?" she took a step forward.

"You said to meet you," he stated quietly.

"But why did you come?"

"You asked me to."

She took another step forward. "Why is it that you always do everything everyone asks you?"

"They ask me to."

"So? You don't owe them anything."

"Yes, I do."

Her brow furrowed. "No, you don't."

"Yes I do."

"Fine!" She breathed in sharply. He was the image of calm. "Fine," she repeated, "Well, you don't owe me anything, anymore. Understand?"

"No."

"You're disagreeing with me?" She sounded hopeful.

"I meant no, I don't understand."

"What I'm saying is—if you think you owe everyone else, fine. You can pay them back by never having an opinion on anything, never refusing to do anything, never laughing at anything. But whatever debt you think you owe me is finished. Over."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning when you're around me, you ought to have a personality. Besides the heartless house-elf thing you have going on—that doesn't count. I know you're pretending, that can't be who you really are."

"What do you want me to do?"

She took another step closer, and put her hand up along his jaw, on the side of his face. It wasn't a romantic gesture, but it could have been. "I want you to let me get to know you."

"And if you don't like me?"

"Then at least it's you I don't like, and not some robot."

For the first time ever, she heard him laugh. It wasn't a loud, barking laugh. It wasn't a twinkling little laugh. It wasn't a giggle. It was a deep, breathy chuckle. It seemed to come from deep within him, and was barely visible on his face at all. The very corners of his mouth were turned up, ever so slightly. It wasn't a hesitant smile, just a small one.

"What's so funny?"

"How on earth have I been acting like a rowboat, Miss Weasley?"

"Enough of this Miss Weasely rubbish. You are not my house elf."

"Fine. I'm not a rowboat, Rose."

"I said robot, silly, it's a muggle-contraption."

"Oh."

"But now that you mention it," she used the hand still holding his jaw to tilt his head to the side, "You do look a bit rowboat-esque from this angle, here."

He laughed again, and she grinned broadly.

"You're far too kind, Rose. I doubt I'd even make a half-decent canoe."

He was saying her name too much, but she didn't notice. He liked the sound of her name when people said it. He liked it best when he said it. He'd never said it out loud before, so it was new, and different. He wanted to say it again and again, get the feel for it, because he wasn't used to saying it.

"Rose," he murmured softly under his breath, traces of the smile still on his face.

"Rowboat," she murmured, in the same dreamy voice he'd used. She was rewarded with hearing his laugh for the third time.

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