A/N: Thank you so much to all of those who have reviewed this story so far. I absolutely adore hearing from all of you, so keep it up. A special thanks goes to Jampaqd who was my 100th reviewer! You should also all thank district 9 3-4 for the quick update. I hope this makes that 20 hours a bit more bearable!

Everyone please keep letting me know what you think, and enjoy this next chapter!

Chapter rated T for language and mildly suggestive themes.

Chapter 15: Present Day II

This is… awkward.

That is the only appropriate way to explain this situation between Scorpius and me.

After the initial meeting—that kiss that had taken my breath away—we are now sitting across from each other, waiting for our drinks, and it's…

Awkward.

This makes no sense because Scorpius and I are never awkward. Since he had first kissed me almost two years ago, we have always been comfortable with each other. I remember the first night we spent together. Not the night we first made love, but the night that he stayed up and watched me sleep after my old boyfriend at Hogwarts had been an idiot. He had walked in on Hadley Underwood forcing himself on me, carried me to his room, and watched me sleep. We had woken up, brushed our teeth together—something that I still think about to this day—and talked comfortably with each other. We were never awkward. We are never awkward. But this… It's… tense. It's confusing. It's difficult.

That is something I am used to. I am used to things being difficult. Scorpius can be negative. He likes to give me frequent—what he calls—"reality checks." He can be outrageously stubborn, not to mention his jealousies that make absolutely no sense. It can certainly be difficult. We can get into screaming matches that end in fire and passion—but they always end. And we are never awkward.

But this? There is no other way to say it.

I look up, and he's looking at me. He smiles. As always, my heart melts.

And just like that—just as easily as if he had flipped a switch—it's no longer awkward. I reach a hand forward and he grins as he reaches forward to take it.

"You look incredible," he says.

I don't know why, but I blush. "Thanks," I murmur.

"Your lips…"

I smile. "You like?"

He chuckles and I shiver—I love the sound of that low, sexy chuckle. "You have no idea."

My heart is pounding in my chest. He's looking at me—that way that he looks at me when he seems to be looking through me, that way he looks at me right before he takes me to bed—or on some other surface—and I can't think straight. I'm trying to think of something clever to say, something that will make him chuckle again or roll his eyes at me with a smile. I'm trying to make him remember to never, ever leave again.

But all I can manage to say is, "I missed you."

He smiles. It's kind of a sad smile. But it still makes my heart pound. He's caressing my knuckles with his thumb and it's like I can feel that caress all the way in my bones, in my marrow. It's like I can feel it to the very center of me, at my core. I try not to sigh with pleasure. He has no idea how much I missed his touch.

"I missed you so much, Rose."

I try to smile seductively as I tilt my head to one side. "What did you miss about me?" He's still caressing my knuckles and I want more of his touch. I want his hands in my hair, around my waist, on my neck, running down the planes of my stomach, making me tingle with need.

He smiles, too. If he's trying to smile seductively, too, his definitely works. He looks down at our joined hands. "I missed these hands," he says, watching as he caresses my knuckles. His hand then slides up to my forearm. "I missed this skin." I sigh and my eyes flutter. He looks up at me, and I can see the heat in his eyes.

"What else?" My voice is breathy. His eyes flick down to my mouth.

"I missed your lips."

Unconsciously, I stick out the tip of my tongue and run it across my top lip. My mouth just feels so dry. I can't concentrate. His eyes move back up to meet mine, and they darken.

"I missed your eyes." He looks down at my dress. "That dress brings them out." He slides his hand up my arm and then slides it back down so he can clasp my hand again. Then he turns it over and brings it up to his mouth, kissing my open palm. I sigh, and my head rolls a bit on my shoulders as my eyes flutter shut. He then tugs my arm gently as he trails his mouth up my hand and to my wrist before placing a soft kiss there.

"Can't we just go back to my place?" I whisper, opening my eyes to look at him.

He smiles and puts my arm back down on the table. Before he can say anything, though, the waiter comes back with our food. I sigh and reluctantly pull my hand away from his.

The waiter asks if we need anything, and I just watch Scorpius as he asks for glasses of wine and sparkling water. He's so sexy when he's like this.

The waiter leaves and Scorpius smiles at me before looking down at his food and digging in.

The meal is fairly silent. It isn't the same awkward silence as earlier. It's a tense, heated silence, full of unsaid words. I mostly watch him. I watch the way his mouth moves as he chews. I watch the way his hands grip the knife and fork as he slices the steak he's eating. I watch as he tips wine back into his mouth and then licks his lips. I could watch him forever.

"Aren't you going to eat," Scorpius says without looking up at me. "Or are you just going to stare at me all night?" He's smirking at his plate, and then he takes a bite and looks up at me.

Of course, I'm blushing. "Sorry," I say. "I just…" I trail off. I'm not sure what I should say.

But he understands. "I know," he says.

A bit later, we're finished, waiting on a dessert we're going to share. I finally decide it's time to talk about what I can tell we both don't want to talk about. I know that no matter how I broach the topic, it's going to lead to a fight. I sigh.

"So, how was it?"

He looks at me and frowns. "The steak?"

I roll my eyes. He narrows his at me, smirking. Light. This is good. Keep it light. "America."

He nods with a small smile. "It was good. A strange and enlightening experience."

For some reason, that makes me angry. I'm not sure why. Is it his casual attitude about being away from me for a month? Is it the way he smiles when he says it? Is it just the way he says it? The anger pulses through me and I wait a moment before I answer, knowing that I'm going to make him mad.

"That's good to hear," I say. "I'm glad being away from me—enlightens you so much."

"Rose—"

"It's fine," I say with a humorless laugh, suddenly so angry that I can't even think straight. "I'm not sure what I expected you to say anyway." I looked at him. "I'm glad you had a good time."

He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "You wanted me to say I was miserable without you, that—that I couldn't wait to come home and that every day I was miserable and I hate America and I hate my father for making me go and… what?"

That stings me. Mostly because it's true and that is what I wanted and he knew it. "Something like that," I say bitterly.

He sighs. "Rose, I did miss you, and there were a lot of days when I was miserable."

That only makes me feel marginally better. But I don't say anything. I reach forward and go to grab my wine, but thinking better of it, I go for the sparkling water instead. But just as I'm reaching for it, he grabs my hand, and I look up at him. He looks intense, anxious.

"I had a lot of time to think," he says quietly. "It was good for me."

I look at him. "It wasn't good for me."

"Rose—"

"God, Scorpius!" I say exasperatedly. "You—can you just, for once, throw your stupid honesty out the window and just fucking tell me what I want to hear?"

He gapes at me. "What are you talking about?"

"You always have to be so fucking honest," I say, my voice raising a bit. "Just—why can't you just say 'I missed you. I—I wanted to come back to you every day. I love you.' Why can't you just say that?"

He shakes his head, that way he does when he's trying to make me feel like a child.

"Things were complicated before I left."

"Things are always complicated with us."

"And whose fault is that?" he snaps.

I'm jolted, confused. What is he saying? "Scorp… I… I'm not sure what you mean."

"I'm not a complicated person, Rose. I—as much as you hate it—I say what I think. I tell you what I feel. And you—you're just constantly… pushing at me, trying to make me mad or something."

"That's not true—"

"You hate my friends."

I scoff and gape at him. "Your friends are pretentious arseholes. They hated me before they even knew me. They treated me like a child."

He gets a knowing look on his face but doesn't say anything.

"What?" I say. "Oh, because I am a child? Is that it?" He doesn't say anything. "Well, fuck you, Scorpius, because me being a child hasn't stopped you from fucking me for a year and a half."

"Keep your voice down," he hisses. I roll my eyes. He glares at me and reaches forward to grab the glass of wine that I haven't touched, and he downs it in a few gulps, looking agitated as he does so.

In that moment, the waiter comes back carrying a large piece of chocolate cake that Scorpius and I almost always get when we come here. He doesn't know that I know he doesn't really like chocolate. The first time we came here, I had gotten so excited about sharing this German chocolate cake that he'd just smiled and agreed to it. It wasn't until later that I'd remembered that he didn't like chocolate. The next time we came here, though, he'd smiled and ordered the same cake for dessert. I'd smiled at him. He made me so happy. He loved making me happy. And I loved him for that.

I order another glass of wine even though I never touched my first one, and I take a bite of the cake as soon as the waiter leaves, but it sours in my mouth. I put my fork down and look up to see him watching me. I look at him, my chest heaving and my adrenaline pumping with the anger I feel at him.

I sigh. "You left," I say. He frowns. "You went to America for a month and you never even asked me what I thought about it. We—there was no conversation. One day you tell me you have to do some favor for your father. There was no room for discussion." I can feel a lump form in my throat. "I didn't want you to go. I love you."

"Rose…"

"You didn't even seem upset that you had to go. Like—like you didn't care that you were leaving me behind. And I'd just gotten back, but you didn't even care…" My voice breaks and I look down. I hate when he sees me cry. Maybe I should have cried when he said he was leaving, though. Maybe then I could have made him feel guilty enough to stay.

"Rose, you left me." I look up at him and he looks detached, looking at his fork. He always does this when he doesn't want me to know how he really feels. But that makes me happy because that usually means he's masking sadness or regret or guilt or something. "You took your band and you went on tour for three months—"

"We talked about the tour. You said—"

"Sometimes it's not always the words we say—"

"Are you serious? This—you're actually saying this—the guy who literally just said 'I say what I think. I tell you how I feel.'"

"It was a complicated situation."

"You could have said you didn't want me to go."

He rolls his eyes. "And have you resent me for the rest of your life? How selfish do you think I am?"

"Selfish enough to go to America and not care at all how your girlfriend feels about it."

I know my words are harsh, and it amazes me how easily they slip from my mouth. He shakes his head angrily. I can tell my words strike a chord with him—that he knows I'm right. Because as mean as it was to say, he had been selfish. He hadn't cared that he was leaving right when Albus, Ly, Nate, and I got back from our three-month tour. It was supposed to be our first night to really be together in months—we'd seen each other occasionally throughout the tour, but this night was supposed to be different—and instead it was him telling me that he was leaving the next weekend to go to America to help with his father's business.

"I had to go to help my father. You know that."

"He could have gotten someone else," I say. "You wanted to go. You wanted to get away from me."

"That's not true—"

"Of course it is. You're such a jealous person that you couldn't stand for me to go on tour with my band—"

"Of course I'm jealous when it comes to you. I'm in love with you, I'm going to be jealous—"

My heart flutters a bit, but I push on. "I talked to you about the tour. I wanted to know what you thought. We—we talked about it! You could have come with me. I told you to come with me—"

"I have a job, Rose!"

"A job that you took a leave of absence from for your father—for a business you don't care about—and not for me."

"Rose—"

"Scorpius, I went on tour to follow my dream. A—a fucking dream you have been well aware of since you've known me. I went because I wanted to pursue my fucking dream. You—you went to America to punish me. That's the difference."

He is effectively silenced by that statement. I don't know if he shuts up because he's angry or because he knows I'm right—or a combination of both—but he is silenced. And we are at an impasse.

Next chapter:

The Gryffindors have a rough quidditch practice, and Scorpius and Rose exchange some late night notes (WARNING: CUTENESS AHEAD).