Already In Love

She'd just picked up her drink from the counter when he walked in. She spotted him out the corner of her eye, with that hair she'd recognise anywhere, and instantly a pale blush coloured her cheeks. She could tell he'd seen her, too, when he stumbled over his order to the barista. He paid, and moved to stand next to her at the counter while his drink was made.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, after all that had happened last year. She'd nearly lost her father. They'd lived together for six months. She'd seen him die, and come back to life. She'd heard his screams as he changed back into the form he wore now. And all they said now was "Hi".

"Do you want to sit down with me? Talk, maybe?" she asked, before she could think better of it.

"Sure," he said, a little taken aback. It was the same body language she'd come to know intimately over their time together; the swift turn of the head, the slight shrink into his shoulders. He thanked the barista, and they sat down at a small table in the corner, out of the cold air that hissed into the cafe every time the door was opened. She cupped the cooling drink in her hands, her fingerless gloves just as much of a stupid choice as she thought they'd be, and gathered the courage to look up at him for the first time since he'd come in.

He hadn't changed. At least, not from the last time she saw him. The strong bones were there, the firm jaw. His hair was cut short now, like the men she saw every day. It had rested by his hips the first time she saw his human form, with a short, scraggly beard to go with it. He was only twenty-one at the time, she remembered. He was the kind of man who found it hard to grow a beard, she found out later. He looked younger with the short hair, but whether that was good or bad she couldn't say. His hands were smoother than when she'd first seen him, but the fingers were still calloused. She guessed that was because he wasn't using them as paws anymore, and they had time to heal. He must have started playing guitar again soon after she left, if his fingers were still rough. She glanced quickly at his eyes. The one thing which hadn't changed in all the time she knew him, and they were fixed intently on her.

"How's life?" she asked.

"New," he shrugged after a heavy pause. "It's intense, like you said it would be. Lonely at first, without the objects around."

She smiled a little with the memory. The grandfather clock, the kettle, the unplugged lamp that still somehow gave off light. She never thought they'd been human to begin with, but she knew he was never so sure. "So they weren't . . . ?"

"No," he confirmed. "But I did make other friends." He sipped his drink, and she couldn't tell whether his face was flushed from embarrassment, or the cold outside, or the heat of his drink. "Got a job. Different house - apartment, actually."

"Bad memories?" she asked, sipping at her own drink immediately after asking, cursing herself for such an insensitive question.

"That, and the mortgage wasn't actually fully paid off." He chuckled slightly, and she guessed that meant it was okay to giggle too. "I didn't want anything from there anyway, except for a couple of things."

The book. He had to be talking about the book she'd wrote him - that or the guitar. He'd taught her guitar while he was cursed, one of the few things they'd managed to bond over properly. She had been awful. He hadn't seemed to care. They'd spent evenings where she clumsily played chords and he tried to read poetry books she picked out. They were the happy evenings.

"Good, good," she said. "Materialism is overrated."

He laughed properly at that, and it made her heart light up a little. "Please," he said, smirking. "You of all people advocating the lack of personal goods? That suitcase looked way too heavy to have just your clothes and books in it."

Her laughter died away. She'd been joking, willing to believe that this was a good idea, but he had to bring up her departure. She looked down at her hot chocolate, but that just made her remember the sweet kettle who'd made her cocoa on the nights she couldn't sleep with worry. Guilt surged. It always did, with him.

"Hey," he said, reaching out his hand across the table, palm up. She looked at him carefully, scrutinising his face. There didn't seem to be any blame there. Just concern for her. She tore her gaze away again, unable to keep looking at him.

"Don't you hate me for leaving? I told you I loved you, and then I just left."

"No," he said. "You had your rights to leave. It was . . . intense for me, changing like that after so long. You had no warning I even could change." He sighed, almost imperceptibly, like a sleepy dog puffing out air. "I mean, if you'd asked me three months ago, I would've said that yeah, I was pissed. But I grew up, y'know? I always thought the end of the curse meant I'd fulfilled some sort of 'decent person award' and I didn't need to change after that."

"People always need to change," she said quietly. "Maybe that was why I left. You changed back then, I didn't."

"What about now?" he asked. There was a muted intensity in his voice, as if he was trying to fight the seriousness of his feelings. She noticed that his hand was still laid on the table, fingers pointing towards the sky. A question of their own, perhaps. "Why did you ask me to sit with you? Has something . . . changed?" She noticed how he bit himself off in the middle of his last sentence.

"I missed you," she said simply. "I missed being friends with you." She let her hand fall within a few centimetres of his own. She could feel a faint heat emanating from his palm. "My book's getting published," she added lamely.

"That's - that's fantastic." He smiled at her. Whatever moment they'd been about to have, it was gone now. "Was it the one -"

"Yeah," she said. "They loved it, like you said they would." He didn't have anything else to say to that, and they spent the rest of their time finishing the drinks in silence. Together, they stood up from the table and strolled towards the door.

"Where are you headed?" she asked, putting her grey woollen hat back on. He pointed somewhere vaguely eastward in lieu of answering, one glove in his teeth while he pulled the other on. "Me too," she said. "Want to walk together?"

"Sure," he said, fitting the glove on his remaining hand.

They tramped down the street, the silver sky hanging over them. It had threatened snow all week, she knew. The weather was yet to deliver, although there had been frost on her windows every day when she woke up. She wondered where he lived, if the frost reached his windows. He'd mentioned an apartment, but not where. He'd talked about friends, a job. He'd managed to build a life out of the wreckage of his curse, and she respected him for that immensely. That was part of why she left, she realised - she'd been worried that he'd pin himself on her too much. Maybe it was selfish, she thought as they kept walking, her hands safely in her pockets - but she wanted a life with an equal she could respect, not a dependent who adored her. Which made it seem like she'd had no esteem for him whatsoever, when that wasn't true either; after the curse, she'd been astounded that he hadn't simply gone insane with the mental instability that must have resulted.

With all the turmoil in her head, it took her a moment to realise that he had stopped a few steps behind her at a junction.

"This is where I turn off," he said.

"Oh," she said breathlessly. Her heart sank. "Well, it was good to see you again."

"You too," he said. Neither of them made a sign to start walking.

Impulsively, she moved towards him. Without thinking it over, she flung her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. This close, she could hear his heart beating. It was steady, although his body had stiffened the instant she came into contact with him. Her arms bound his, were splayed across his back, and she could feel his chest expanding and contracting as he breathed. Turning her head to the side, so the side of her face was against his collarbone, she felt the cold air sting the exposed part of her head. A second later, his hand settled at the small of her back, another gently framing her face. The wool of his gloves was a little itchy, but she didn't care. It was enough to be near him again. It was enough for him to hug her back.

"I've changed," she said, so quietly only he could hear. "I couldn't then, just after everything. But if you'll have me, I could now." She blushed. "That's - that's not what I mean. I felt like if I was with you then, you'd never . . ."

"Separate. Never grow, never become the person I could be." He pulled her closer. "I realised that a few months ago. Around the time I stopped feeling pissed off at you." She could feel the smile in his voice. "I've changed in the last five years. I'm not who I was when the curse ended."

"Honestly? I wouldn't want you to be." She pulled away slightly, to see his face. "So, what does this mean? Do you want to try?"

"I know I want to get to know you again." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I have a feeling we might end up trying regardless, but we probably shouldn't skip the relearning-stuff-about-each-other bit. I loved you. Still do, probably, but I know what you're like about that romance crap."

She laughed, loudly. "Unrealistic garbage. Well, what's not realistic about this? Boy meets girl, they date, they fall in love. We just happened to do it in the wrong order." She stepped away, took his hand. He squeezed gently. She squeezed back, hard.

That wasn't all there was to it, she knew. There would be a long time of getting to know each other again, of getting back that mutual trust that had seemed so instinctive when the curse was in place. But as they walked down that cold November street, she had a feeling that it wouldn't be the hardest thing in the world.

After all, they were already in love.

A/N: This is modern AU. Deliberately unnamed, so you don't confuse it with any other of my AUs. Possibly a little melancholy, but it's what popped out.

TheTeaIsAddictive