The night of the tense and awkward scene in the alley had been a bad one. When she’d realized she wasn’t going to get her camera back with angry magic or red-cheeked demands, she’d gone home to curl up on the couch and mope over a carton of ice-cream. (She’d even angrily thrown out a perfectly good piece of cake in her fridge because the very same infuriating pastry chef had made it. If she regretted this just a little the next morning, she’d never say so.) The anger had turned into sadness as she’d sat there, thinking about it, replaying it in her head. She’d really thought he was going to kiss her. He’d seemed so intent, walking straight up to her without pause, and the intensity and nerves between them had made her sure. She felt stupid now for not realizing it was a trick, but worse because she’d wanted it to be real. Had he wanted to kiss her at all? Or had he known that Ellie had wanted him to and used that to his advantage? If he hadn’t known before, he obviously did now, since she’d nearly tripped over nothing in her attempt to meet his lips. It had been easier to demand he return the camera than to ask him why he would do such a thing.

The day immediately following the incident was a little less tense, but still plenty awkward. Fueled by sleep and a certain measure of Gryffindor hardheadedness, Ellie had sneaked around Alohomocha whenever she was sure Sander was on a smoke break. She had managed to avoid him for the most part, but the camera was nowhere to be found in the cafe. Even if he had discovered her on the hunt, Ellie was pretty certain that she could count on the rest of the staff to steal it back for her if it happened to turn up at the coffee shop. And so, after it had become pretty clear that he’d taken it home with him, Ellie and Lala had begun to plan. If Lysander Blackwell thought he was going to get away with what he’d done, well, he was just hilarious.

And now, after three days of a seeming (if slightly awkward) calm-- Ellie had even started acknowledging him again, at least nodding whenever she saw him around Alohomocha-- she found herself perched on the window sill in front of the fire escape that conveniently led from Lala’s flat to Lysander’s and Lester’s. “I’ll send you an owl from Fortress Blackwell,” she said, grinning at her friend as she climbed out of the window. “Or take a picture.” Her smile grew at the thought. She found her footing on the escape, but leaned back in to give Lala a small hug. “Thanks.”

And then she was climbing nimbly up the cold metal, using the dark to her advantage, her wand steady in her grasp. She reached the next landing of the escape and peaked into the window-- the room was empty. Ellie smiled again. Just as Lala had guessed, the window was unlocked. Ellie would remember to thank Lester for it later. She pulled it open a little, testing it, waited. No one showed up, and so she opened it further. Soon enough, she was slipping through, into the warmth of the room.

Though her intention was to find her camera, she couldn’t help looking around. She’d never seen Lysander’s home. There were signs of his brother everywhere. Everywhere. It was definitely, upon a first glance, a guys’ place. She grinned to herself, but froze when she heard the distinct sound of running water. Her eyes darted for the closed door that had to be a bathroom. A light glowed in the space between the door and the floor. Someone was home. In the shower, from the sound of it. She would have to be quiet. And quick. She took a breath to calm herself, and then looked toward the beds. It was immediately obvious which one was Sander’s-- and though she was still angry, and confused about what happened, and determined to get back what was hers, she couldn’t help smiling at this. Her eyes traveled over the pillows to the nightstand, where she spotted her camera, plain as day. Navigating the floor, however, proved slightly more of a challenge. Shoes, art supplies, random boxes of things littered the path. Luckily, Ellie generally had good balance. Finally, she reached the corner. She was so thrilled to touch her camera again that she didn’t hear the water go off. Lifting it triumphantly, she turned it slowly, eyes moving over the familiar knobs, the capped lens. She'd missed it.

As she turned back toward the window with the camera in hand, the door to the bathroom opened. Ellie froze at the edge of Lysander’s bed.

Life had been crappy and odd this past week for Sander. First there was the almost kiss incident with Ellie - which Sander was not constantly attempting to erase from his mind - then there was the fucking disaster of yesterday... Worst day of his life. When he woke up earlier in the day, the first thing he did was feel his chest for irregularities. And he had predicted his nightmares correctly. The demon spawn known as CeeCee had visited his dreams and spewed fire and girlishness everywhere. He was still shuddering every time he remembered the terror...

But now after a long day of work, with no Lester at home and a suspiciously quiet Lala in the apartment below, with free time to actually let his mind wonder, he was going back to the last Saturday. And Sander decided he would not have that. He'd ignore this—whatever the hell it was, for as long as he could. He did not have time to deal with this shit now. Nor did he have any inclination to actually acknowledge anything to himself or to Lala, or Jesus Christ—no to Ellie. So a cold shower it was.

Little did Sander know, that in the suspiciously quiet apartment below, one Layla Styles was gleefully abetting the same Ellie with breaking into the upstairs apartment. Well, you couldn't really call it breaking into when the window was always left unlocked, because Lester could never be bothered to secure it once Sander left for work. What Sander was also unaware of was that one Layla Styles had long since recognized the symptoms he was not willing to admit to himself or anyone. Curiously, she'd also identified same symptoms in her BFF as well. And, once Ellie was out on the escape, the same Layla Styles had thrown a power-fist into the air and shimmied her hips while chanting some strange victory speech, "A-ha, who da man? I'm da man. Who got skills? I got skills. Yeah, bitches, you can all call me Miss Damn Good Cupid, from now on. Uh huh!" To whom exactly the chant was addressed? Well... there were always the cats.

So when Sander, still deeply confused, frustrated and rather pissed at the world in general - I know, that's nothing new for him, but, well, these were completely new heights of pissed off-ness - opened the door to their teensy bathroom, mindlessly shaking the water out of his hair, hips wrapped only in an obscenely small towel to find an intruder in their apartment. Well... the proverbial shit met the proverbial fan and everything was not fine. His hand instinctively went to his hips, hoping to grab his wand, but—heh, towel. And he was about to lose all his shit and just tackle the intruder when he realized, he knew that back. He'd know it anywhere. It had only terrorized his every waking minute since Saturday. Well, crap.

His eyebrows did this funny thing where they went up and then down, and up again and then down only on the inside corners, not really knowing what to do with his face. Or, just generally. He settled on frowning, wrinkling his nose in confusion, before opening and closing his mouth a few times, sort of fish-like. Awkward. "E—Ellie" he finally asked, managing to stumble only once through the name. "Did you—" he stopped. Exhaled. Scratched the back of his head. Raised both hands in the air. Let them drop swiftly, ramming into the sides of his body. Huffed. Oooooh, he was getting pissed. "Did you just brake. into. my. apartment?" he screeched through his teeth, closing his eyes to roll them into his skull. "Fuckin' Lala" he muttered shaking his head, and gnashing his teeth as he eyed the open window.

He was going to bash Lester's skull in the next time he left the window unlocked. He was just about to storm over to Ellie, having just made the first step when he felt the hold around his hips loosening. And then... He suddenly had a flash back to yesterday's awkward pants dropping moment. Except—oh, shit. Tiny towel. With some moves worthy of a Matrix movie, he managed to catch it just in time to modestly -and by modestly I mean, not really- cover his privates.  In the few seconds his brain redirected all neurological activity to his hands, he'd completely forgotten why he had went through such pains to do that. But then, he raised his eyes, almost in slow-motion, mortified expression slowly etching in his features as he finally laid eyes on Eleanor. Of course, now she was conveniently turned to face him. Through what satanic instructions was this his life?

She should have expected that whomever came out of the bathroom would be scantily clad, if dressed at all, but. Being caught breaking in was suddenly less dire, certainly less distracting than the scene before her as Ellie slowly turned around. She thanked Merlin that it wasn’t Lester in the small towel, even if it would have been somehow less awkward (certainly for him). “The window was open,” she said, by way of answer. Or unlocked, at least. She looked straight at him as she said this, eyes locked on his, her voice semi-apologetic, but also defending her... self-invite into his little corner of London.

He seemed to know, immediately, that Lala had helped. Ellie tried to mask a smile, but it was hard for more reasons than one. It was made slightly easier by the fact that her mouth was a bit ajar. Of all the ways to stumble upon Sander-- or be stumbled upon by Sander-- nearly naked was not one she had expected. (Though she had heard all about yesterday.)

Her eyes swept down, and the surprised expression only seemed to solidify, a mesmerized quality evident in her gaze. “I came to get my--” She wasn’t talking to his face anymore. “Camera,” she finished, finally, peeling her eyes from... the towel... and looked at his face again. She smiled a little, close-lipped, waved the camera to confirm that this was absolutely true. Resisting the urge to use her newly reacquired favorite belonging was almost physically painful.

If she was mad at him, she couldn’t help feeling a little endeared at the moment. The view was just too good. This time, her blush was less rampant, but still obvious. They hadn’t talked much since Saturday, even if she had put on a brave enough face around Alohomocha. She had what she’d come for, but she realized she didn’t really. There was too much left unresolved. She was still mad, confused, disappointed. And she missed him, too, which made her annoyed. And she could tell that he was pissed that she’d broken in.

So Ellie made her choice, stepped blindly through Lester’s tornado of possessions and closer to Sander instead of the window. “Need help with that?” She asked, gesturing toward the towel, before looking back up at him with an innocent enough (but still rather cheeky) grin. “If you cram the edge-- there-- it’ll stay.” She pointed, elaborating with her hands, a kind of peace offering for having broken into his home. There were questions on her tongue, but she would wait for the right moment. “It looks like you’re back to normal.” Apparently. “That must be a relief.” For Ellie, too, because she rather liked him the way he was, but she didn’t say this. She bit her bottom lip a little, watching his face.

“So, my film. You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” She asked, deciding that the best cure for an angry Sander was to simply keep talking. Because it had worked so well in the alley. She looked down at the camera this time (really!). “There are important photos on this roll.” Uh huh. Again, she pinned him with her gaze.

Sander's face slowly turned from mortification to skepticism, drawing his eyebrows together as he watched her make her way through the hazards of the apartment. His entire body tensed in preparation to flee... or fight. His instincts got mixed up sometimes. His mouth did this completely unimpressed thing where it shut tightly and his expression could as well be compared to that of a plank. "I can manage on my own, thank you" he finally dead-panned in a voice that was not as steady or as menacingly low as he would've wanted.

He worked on his towel, with careful slow motions, concentrated on his deft long fingers to make sure no further accidents happened. He raised an eyebrow at her next question, still not looking at her and scoffed loudly. "Of course you know" he muttered as he pulled the towel as tightly around him as possible. "How could you not" he continued, raising his eyes to look at her with an amused glint in his eyes as he tucked the corner of the towel in. Relief? It was one of the sweetest moments of his life, returning to his normal God-given body. But she would not have an answer, she did not get to change the subject so carelessly. She had just broken into his apartment, that was a completely new level of obnoxious even for Ellie.

She might've been entitled to demand her camera back, despite Sander firmly believing the time apart was good for her, but going as far as to commit a felony? And it wasn't even that... but she was here. In this dump they called home, that lacked a proper paint job and was about as big as someone's living room. He wasn't really embarrassed with their home and their means, but he was a private person and he was a proud guy. He was terrified of being pitied—especially more so if the person pitying him would be Ellie.

She had the nerve to ask about her film and Sander just glared intensely, crossing his arms over his chest. He shook his head, feeling angry and hurt in a way... and guilty. While he might've just come to the conclusion that she had every right to do this (and even worse) Sander was not a guy known for admitting his mistakes. Ever. So he turned around and switched the light on in the kitchenette, leaving her to seethe just for a moment as he put some water to boil. "I gave it to Lester to get rid of the shots with me" he said from behind the corner to the small excuse of a kitchen. "I was assured everything else is in place" he said somewhat softer, because, really, he hadn't the vaguest ideas about cameras and Lester was not the most reliable person. He looked desperately for two mugs, preferably some that looked like they hadn't been witnesses to a war... or were at least clean. He found one for Ellie and he settled for a paper cup for his own coffee.

Once her coffee (two sugar, dash of milk) and his (black as his soul) were ready he came back to the room and placed the mug in her hands with an irritated expression. He balanced his paper cup in one hand and dragged Les' desk chair in front of his own bed with deliberate loud noises to make sure Lala understood what sort on conversation would take place as soon as Eleanor left. He sat on it as if the piece of furniture had personally offended him and awkwardly pulled his legs close together. "Sit" he pointed at his bed. They had no actual table, and he would never let Ellie sit on their couch. He did not sit on their couch unless it was armored with a set of sheets and blankets. God knew the things Lester had done on it. "We need to negotiate the terms of returning your camera" he said incredibly serious, nodding as if congratulating himself on his conclusion.

She watched him, her face and body language a weird mixture of unabashed interest and embarrassment. But if there was something else interesting to stare in the flat— like Lester’s muggle electronics, or the fire escape that was still her main exit strategy— those things didn’t seem to be able to keep her attention the same way Sander in a bath towel did. His insistence that he didn’t any help wasn’t surprising, but it didn’t bode well for her plan to be friendly and hope for the best. After all, the last time she had tried it, he’d quickly trampled over her strategy. And now she was sneaking around his flat after dark, seeking out the camera he had stolen, with no real plan for how to deal with the other, much bigger and more awkward thing. But, right. He had the towel. He was only a full-grown young man who had nearly dropped it a minute ago. “Uh huh, looks like it.” Not that it wasn’t already obvious that she was looking.

He met her stare, finally, and Ellie was a bit… relieved. That word was being put to good use. The glare was familiar. He had glared at her a thousand times before, variations on a theme. He didn’t elaborate on what his temporary transformation had been like, and Ellie opened her mouth to ask for more details, but closed it again, slowly. She didn’t need to elaborate, either. He had to have known how she knew, just like he knew how she got through his window. But as nostalgic as it was to talk to the usual, grumpy Sander, it was also infuriating. In her effort to make him not mind that she had broken in, she hadn't demanded answers to the questions that had been flying around in her mind since Saturday, questions that didn’t have much to do with her camera.

She hadn’t anticipated him being here, but she knew they would need to talk about it eventually. She couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened, bury it. She was too hardheaded for that.

He didn’t answer her, not straight away. And then he just walked away. Ellie turned, frowning, her anger growing, almost like a child who ready to huff and stomp at being ignored. But she wasn’t a child. They were old enough to have a conversation, for Merlin’s sake. She watched his back, bare, the small towel, his damp hair. She directed her anger at his back, floated after him, but stopped before reaching the small kitchen area. She instead waited around the corner, looking between the general area he had escaped to and her camera. “You what?” She asked, resisting the urge to charge at him. “This is magical film, Sander.” But it wasn't too terribly different from muggle film (what she knew of it), not until the development process; it was easy enough for someone with experience handling a camera to do exactly what he’d said Lester did. But that was beside the point. “How do you know I didn’t have sensitive data on here?” Besides Sander in rose-tinted cat-eye sunglasses, there was none.

She felt like she was arguing with a wall (she was, sort of), but she knew he could hear her just fine. When he returned with two cups of coffee, she adeptly slung the camera’s strap over one shoulder, letting it nestle at her side, and took the mug with both hands. If it was a weird thing to be angry at a naked young man whose flat she had just broken into, bicker at him through a kitchen wall, and then accept coffee from him, well… stranger things had happened to Eleanor.

She hesitantly crossed back to the bed, sat down on the mattress’ edge after he made a show of dragging the chair. Holding the coffee in one hand, she adjusted the camera's strap, freeing it from her shoulder, and gently set the camera on the bed, at her side, but a bit behind her— he wasn’t getting it again. Her eyes flickered to his and then she looked down at the coffee, the lazy steam coming off it. It was exactly the way she liked it, she could tell before taking a sip. Again, she felt a sentimental pull beneath her anger. She was grateful for the coffee's warmth, for something to do besides bicker and stare. She took a sip, looking at him over the brim of the mug.

“My camera,” she repeated, with somewhat dramatic syllables as she lowered the mug again. “You just said it.” Well, close enough. “There’s nothing to negotiate.” Alright, maybe she shouldn’t have taken photos of him. She knew how he felt about it. But her intentions had been innocentish enough, lighthearted. She’d wanted them, truly. She hadn’t done it to torment him. “I told you I would show the photos to you. If you had let me develop them, I could have let you pick which ones to toss.” Though, knowing him, that would have been pointless- he would probably (definitely) want them all gone. "It’s not like I was going to hang them in a gallery, Sander.” Ellie knew that the next great Wizarding War might happen before Sander allowed himself to be the subject of an exhibition (though it didn’t stop her from pondering it from time to time; each of her friends had characteristics she’d love to capture and share). “I just wanted a photo of you,” she said, a little softer. It was the truth. “And of us. We’re friends, aren’t we?” The word hung there for a moment, awkward. She trudged past. "Why is it such a huge deal?” Ellie loved photos because they captured a moment in time, could spark a memory. That Sander didn’t want a single one of himself was maddening. She looked down at the coffee and back up. "It’s not like you aren’t photogenic.” She didn’t need a clear photo of his face to know it (though she might have had one if he hadn’t conspired with his brother to get rid of the frames he was in). She crossed her arms. “I was in one of those photos, too, you know.” She looked at him as if this meant he should apologize for ruining her film.

Sander merely sat in his chair, paper cup halfway to his mouth and stared unimpressed at Ellie. If she had sensitive data on the film, she shouldn't have mixed it up with criminally taken pictures of him. And it wasn't like Lester actually knew much about the magical world apart from the clubs, coffee shops and pubs. And some odd little stores he did not talk about. That was a childish argument, and Sander was very far from being amused by it.

He waited with the same unimpressed face for her to finish her little... tantrum, but he was obviously getting impatient and rather pissed as his nostrils kept flaring and his lips kept pursing. He took small sips of his coffee, keeping himself occupied so he wouldn't flare up, bouncing his leg up and down, flexing his fingers over his knee and looking anywhere but at her. And even if her tone got softer towards the end Sander was so done he should've been taken out of the oven, for Christ's sake. He suddenly jerked, leaning forward with his elbows settled on his knees and glared at her for a second, huffing and scowling before shaking his head angrily. "Huge deal" he repeated in an absentminded way. "Huge deal, Eleanor? How is it not a fuckin' huge deal?" he asked biting the inside of his cheek. "You don't get it, do you? It's not even about the damn photos, Ellie—fuck's sake" he leaned back into the chair exasperated, slapping his knee, before leaning forward again. "It's about respecting my decisions" he shoved his fingers deep into his chest. "It's about asking before taking pictures, about understanding when no—actually means no!" he exclaimed, in loud thundering voice, before stopping himself short to calm down.

He stammered through a few words, raising his hand to express his frustration, before exhaling loudly and growling at his own inability with words. "It's not—not that I don't trust you... I do. I trust you to keep any picture you take of me private, but it's because I trust you, that you know I have-" he cast his eyes downwards looking at his pathetic little paper cup of coffee. "I have issues..." he said in a softer voice, the words coming out stunted. "I trust you to ask me, to hear my thoughts, to respect my privacy and my decisions" he finally said raising his eyes to look at her with a serious face.

This was the most Sander had talked in weeks, maybe. And, probably the first time in months when he had actually talked about feelings, his own feelings. And God save the person that made Sander say they should talk...

"And this?" he said irritatedly, gesticulating between them, at the damn camera, at the window. "This is not okay" he dead-panned seriously, with a sort of disappointed look. "There's limits—boundaries, that I need" he accentuated the word, drawing it out clearly. "And if you want to move the lines of those boundaries I need to know. You have to ask me, you have to talk to me about it" he finished, eyes cast on his cup, rolling his finger around the rim of it.

His argument was more intense than she had expected. Certainly more honest. There was no apology, but as he spoke, Ellie’s anger turned to guilt. Her arms let up, slowly uncrossed. Her eyes searched his face, her cheeks became a little redder.

She knew what he’d gone through in school, knew it had effected him somewhat permanently, but she hadn’t known to what extent, not really. She hadn’t talked to him about it. And whatever else had happened, things she hadn’t heard, things they (also) didn’t talk about, she could only guess. It frustrated her that he couldn’t see himself the way she did, under the grumpiness. She thought a picture might show him, somehow, convey some of it, but she hadn’t meant to trample over his trust or add to his anxiety. But to hear that he trusted her, to hear him say it, was unexpected. She needed it. Watching him stare down at the cup, she felt her heart beat jump a little.

“I’m sorry.” Her face looked slightly dejected, slightly pained, not because it was hard to say, but because she’d hurt him. It hadn’t been her plan to break in and apologize, but however offended she had been on behalf of her camera— and however confused and hurt she was over the not-a-kiss— Ellie felt guilty. "I didn’t mean to break your trust,” she insisted. "I should have thought about it before I did it.” Ellie was occasionally prone to leaping into something before thinking it out. “I... just wanted it to be a good memory.” Instead, it had become a confusing and embarrassing one.

She grabbed the camera beside her, took out the roll of film. Lester had already tampered with it and it had an Anti-Exposing Charm on it, anyway. But it didn’t matter at this point. Ellie reached toward him with her free hand, grabbed the hand that was dancing around the rim of his paper cup, and put the roll in his palm, her fingers brushing his as she relinquished the film. “Keep it." She had never shied from touching him, knew he sometimes required dragging around, quite literally, to get him out of his kitchen at Alohomocha, but the talk of boundaries and the fresh memory of what had happened the last time they were close made her withdraw her hand with equal parts apologetic quickness and reluctance.

There. She had her camera, he had insurance.

The strong-willed part of her (which was big) was still frustrated. He wanted boundaries, but he’d walked right past them on Saturday. She straightened up on the edge of the mattress. “What about me? Do you respect me?” It wasn’t that he had crossed the line to kiss her. Ellie wasn’t a stranger to bold moves; it was something she might have done, too. It was that he had crossed the line to toy with her. The deception had left her feeling humiliated, like she had blurted out a secret without meaning to. But it wasn’t a secret, not really. It was plain enough to people who didn’t make a habit of not talking about those kinds of things. Lala had picked up on it without being told. But reading Lysander Blackwell’s emotions— beyond being able to decipher that he did consider her a friend— was a level of complicated that had made even Ellie hesitant to make a move.

“Why did you,” she began, and then corrected herself. “Why didn’t you kiss me?” She stared at him, half-searchingly, half-demanding.

When he finally raised his eyes to look at her after an awkward moment of silence, she was looking... guilty? Embarrassed? Dejected? Whatever it was, it made Sander feel like the crowned king of all jackasses, and he squirmed in his seat awkwardly for a second before she started talking. No Blackwell (well, except maybe Bran, but he didn't really count) managed well with crying, sad or generally indisposed creatures of the female race.

So, when she started apologizing, Sander was caught between stopping her short and nodding fervently, thinking himself entitled to an apology. And, as everyone did know, Lysander Blackwell did not do well with confused feelings, and any sort of blend of conflicting emotions generally resulted in grumpiness or anger. "It's fine" he said shortly, looking anywhere but at Ellie. "Apology accepted—just, give me a heads up in the future, yeah?" he said, feeling his cheeks warming up just a little.

He heard her move and doing something, but the black liquid in his cup was far more interesting at that current moment, but then her hand was on his, and he jerked just for a fraction, before berating himself for acting like such a creep. The—thing whatever it was, was gone too soon and he was left with a film roll in his open hand, and he just stared from his palm to Ellie a few times, before realizing what was going on. It was a peace offer, insurance of sorts. So he curled his hand around the roll and gave a small nod, accepting her gesture.

He thought that was that. That they'd finally resolved the situation, but this was Sander, there was no way it would all end so short and nice. No, fate had to throw him another shit-hand at the shit-game of poker his life was. He looked at her, slightly shocked, pondering on her question for a few seconds before answering affirmatively with a reluctant furrowing of his brows. Of course he respected her... Oh. Oh! Damn it. Of course, of course, how could he have forgotten about that? He'd been trying to wipe that scene from his memory for the past week, through various ridiculous rituals to no avail whatsoever. He stared at her in shock mouth hanging open, trying to form some words, any words, but everything that came was a litany of stunted, mumbled Is.

But then it hit him. Her question—her phrasing finally registered and he just froze completely. 'Didn't'. He was on his feet in two seconds, cup (happily empty) of coffee flying halfway around the room, complete mortification written across his face as he just stared at her for a second. "I—" he tried and failed, before setting to pacing on a very short route from the beds to the desk. "It—" he turned again, then shook his head and muttered something unintelligible. "I—don't know" he finally exclaimed with a huff. "I was frustrated—it just came to mind. Oh God. I just thought of something Lester would do—Jesus! Lester, as if that could ever end well" he almost slapped himself as he plastered his own hand over his face in complete mortification. "I wasn't thinking—" he continued with his back turned at her, hoping she couldn't see the horrid blush on his face.

"Jesus Christ, Blackwell!" Layla's voice suddenly thundered from below, muffled slightly by the almost paper thin floor that separated the two apartments. "I know you were dropped on your head as a baby but that doesn't excuse your monumental levels of complete stupidity" the pain in his arse continued, ending with a very loud growl as Sander stood still, eyes shot wide in horror. "Stop being such a failboat and just KISS her already, else I swear to sweet, divine, little Chibi" he wasn't sure, but Sander remembered Lala calling her laptop that word. He had no idea why he was focusing on what Lala called her laptop instead of the obvious elephant in the room. "—I don't know too many hexes, but I do know crazy and, I'm not afraid to use it" his neighbor's rant continued before a dreadful silence settled in the apartment.

For a few seconds the only thing he could hear were the dangerously fast beat of his heart and some cars that could be heard from outside. She had a point, he would never admit it to anyone publicly, but the little bundle of awkward horror had a point. How else to avoid awkward conversations? It worked once... This was such a terrible idea. But, she did want it? Right? She wanted it. He wanted it. They both wanted it. He turned around too fast for his own good, towel fluttering through the current of his spin and stopped to eye Ellie insistently. He walked to the edge of the bed in a few short strides, looking dead concentrated, or murdering (one could never tell with Sander) and put his hands on Eleanor's shoulder's pulling her in a standing position. His eyes quickly flickered over her face—eyes, nose, cheeks until they finally settled on her lips. He swallowed loudly around the thickest, driest of knots in history and took a deep breath.

"Oh, what the hell" he muttered lowly. And then, his lips were upon hers. Just like that, with one swift dip of his head, his mouth was perfectly placed over hers, fitting together just like the pieces of a puzzle. It was desperate, terrifying and so incredibly good. He didn't dare do more than just press his lips against her.

He'd probably have a panic attack in about five minutes.

The way he looked at her, mortified, unsure what to say, Ellie could tell he’d though the camera truce was the end of it. It became more apparent (if that was even possible) as he stood, that he hadn’t been ready for her to ask the question— but would he ever be? It was Sander. Ellie had had to ask, though. It was driving her crazy. And since he’d started it, she expected an answer.

She couldn’t tell, though, if she was catching him the way he had unintentionally caught her on Saturday when she’d tried to meet his kiss. She couldn’t tell if he was stumbling to get the truth out, or if he was simply embarrassed that she’d brought it up.

She watched him retreat, stared again at his back. His anxiety was obvious; hers heightened and she shifted on the mattress.

Her own lips parted, as if to say something, to tell him this wasn’t a good enough answer, but she didn’t know what to say, either. He didn’t know why he’d not kissed her? There were other ways he could have got her camera. And then he started talking about Lester, and how it had just come to mind. Ellie closed her mouth and looked down at her hands, blinking. She looked up again, wondering if her instincts were wrong. Staring at his back, she didn’t want them to be. She knitted her brows, but in a fragile way, not anger; it was a flash of an expression, made of glass, unwitting but better better than the alternative.

So he’d not kissed her because he thought it was something his brother would do? Or he had almost kissed her for that reason? Half of her still thought maybe he wanted to; the other half thought he was trying to find a way to sink through the floor. Except Lala was down there.

Ever the voice of reason.

All-knowing, like a 21st century lady version of Merlin, she lectured him through the floor— or her ceiling. Even Ellie froze a bit, at first, unsure what this new development might cause Sander to do. One never knew how much or how colorfully Lala might say something (which Ellie loved her for, even if it was slightly, definitely, hugely awkward at the moment). Her explicit instructions didn’t leave room for questions. She assumed Sander wanted to kiss Ellie just as much as Ellie wanted him to kiss her. Her eyes danced from the floor to Sander. She took in a deep breath, let it out instead of fidgeting.

When he finally turned around, looking a little more determined (if also like he’d been blushing madly and trying to hide it), Ellie sat up a little, eyes locked on his face. (They might have flickered, for a half a second, to the towel, its dangerous fragility.)

She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, didn’t take her eyes off his, even as his gaze roamed her face. The feeling that had come over her Saturday rushed back. She had no time to process it, to speak. He met her lips and she closed her eyes. She settled her arms slowly, loosely around his neck. After a moment, she pulled back. She kept her arms where they were, kept him there, her forehead brushing his. Her eyes moved to his mouth. She opened her own to speak, hesitated. It had been real this time, not a joke. She remembered, a moment ago, that he'd wanted her to let him know. “I want to move the boundaries,” she said in the small space between them. She thought that was enough notice this time. She pressed her mouth to his again, leaned up, closer now. He was wet hair and body heat, tasted perfect, a little like coffee.

She had been responding. Or so he thought, but then she pulled back and Sander instantly tensed. He was ready to jump out his window, covered only in a tiny towel and run to the edge of the city, move into the woods, roll in some mud, cover himself in leaves and live off of the Earth. Who cared he couldn't hunt for shit, he'd make it work. Who cared he'd probably poison himself with the first mushroom he'd find. He'd pull through. He'd be a great hermit, except for running water. And a kitchen.

It took him a while to realize that she was still there. Her hands were still gently locked around his neck, her forehead was touching his, and she was looking at his lips. She was looking at his lips. She wasn't staring back in complete horror, she wasn't slapping him, she wasn't crying (thank God for small mercies), she wasn't going anywhere. He relaxed slowly, feeling the flee or fight instinct from before slowly rolling off his mind. He raised his gaze to look into her eyes with a fearful sort of caution.

When she opened her mouth to say something and nothing came out, he was again contemplating the possibility of a life in the wild. But it took only a few seconds for words to actually make it past her lips, and she'd remembered. She'd said just what he needed to hear. He could almost feel the brimming silly excitement bubbling under his skin, but, instead, his eyes opened big in shock, and his mouth followed quickly. He hadn't even had time to think of what he could say to that because her lips were pressed against his and it was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

He closed his eyes and snaked his arms under hers, locking them at the small of her back and pulling her flush against him. He tilted his head sideways and deepened the kiss. Softly, scared still of doing too much. Of scaring her away. This was too good to be his life. It was too fucking incredible to be real. But, just as well ,Sander was scared of waking up to find it was just another of his dreams. So he clung tightly to her, fisting his hands into her shirt and kissing with a desperate, ardent fervor. He let out a small whimper as he came up for air, just for a second, then he was back placing small chaste kisses over her lips, drawing them down to her neck, only to settle his chin in the crook of her neck and exhale heavily once.

He stood there, still, inhaling her scent, assuring himself this was happening. And it took a moment to set in, but he was smiling, and before long he let out a small chuckle. He pulled back to watch her, bracing her head between his hands, caressing her skin softly, memorizing patterns from her temples, to her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. He smiled brightly dipping his head down to touch their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and grinned. Actually grinned. If anyone could see this scene, they'd definitely think Ellie had broken Lysander Blackwell.

"Okay" he said finally, in a low voice, touched by the happiness in his smile. And then, silly, stupidly, ridiculously as it was, he kissed her forehead, still smiling like an idiot and moved his hands around her shoulders to pull her close and settled his head on top of hers, grinning manically at the wall behind.

"OMFG! What is going ooooon up there?! I'm dying here" the wind whooshed outside. Or so Sander lied himself the second the idiot's voice from down below screeched. "Are you okay? Did you kiss?! Are you a thing now?! No one's crying or being murdered... right?!" Lala continued to ruin his perfect moment with her particular... charm.

"Shut up, Lala" he finally growled loudly, smile all but wiped off his face. "We're busy" he added with a smug smirk, chuckling low as he placed a kiss at the top of Ellie's head. He frowned then, and pushed her away, hands braced on her shoulders and watched her with deep concentration. "Are we—a thing now?" he asked with an almost pathetic whine, not really sure himself what sort of answer he'd like to that.

Sander deepened the kiss and she encouraged it, lips parting against his. She wasn’t shy about their proximity, her legs bumping his, her arms redoubling in their effort to keep him locked there and invite him closer. After five days of postponing it (plus moping into ice-cream, moping at Lala, and swearing about anything with XY chromosomes), Ellie was making up for the lost time— all of doubt and pangs and frustration. It was an admirable energy. Those insecurities evaporated for the moment, to be replaced by more kisses, both the brief, sweet kind and the less innocent, more lingering sort. She, too, needed to catch her breath; she breathed out audibly, exasperated in a good way, as his lips moved to more sensitive skin. Her fingers curled gingerly at the back his neck.

His smile was infectious, a rare thing, something she was always trying to drag out of him. Ellie tried to sober hers for a moment, but it was there, barely hiding in her voice. “If I knew all it took to get you to smile properly was a kiss…” He was infuriating. But Ellie smiled a little and it easily caved into a broader grin. She was thrilled to see him smile-- so much so that she was alright not capturing it on her camera. (Still, it was ironic that it came only minutes after she had given him her film. And she would tell him so— later, when they weren’t busy.) She slipped her arms from the tangle around his shoulders, brought her hands down idly to rest against his shirtlessness as he hugged her.

Lala’s voice soon broke through the hush in a way that only Lala could pull off. Ellie shook with silent laughter, less annoyed than Sander seemed to be. She nearly rolled her eyes at his response, but she was holding back another laugh, too. “It’s all good,” she elaborated, speaking at the floor so that she knew Lala would hear her. Leaving the pair of them unmoderated seemed like a good way to get sidetracked fast. She owed Lala quite a bit now— no doubt there would be a much more detailed conversation between the two later, conspiratorial in the way that only best friends could be, and in low voices so that Sander couldn’t hear. It would have to wait, though.

Ellie managed to sneak in one more kiss, short and sweet, just below his jaw before he pulled back to question her. She blinked twice, and then a smile spread on her lips, with a hint of cheekiness. “We should have been a thing since Saturday.” At least. The sass in her voice suggested, kindly enough, that he would have saved her a whole lot of sulking and exasperation. The tension had been building for a while, really, way before Saturday, but even Eleanor hadn’t had the nerve to act on it until now (or five days ago, technically). She took his hands from her shoulders and brought them down, swinging them lightly. But it seemed right, here in his flat, alone except for Lala’s sage wisdom coming from below. It was worth the wait.

She pulled him toward her again, looked down at their entangled fingers. She had grabbed his hands dozens of times to pry him from his kitchen or haul him into an environment that wasn’t Sander-approved (and had occasionally, admittedly, triumphed in the closeness with thoughts that were less than platonic), but she hadn’t had a chance to consider how well they fit, his hands that spent hours perfecting cake that could lead anyone astray, and hers, the ones that tried to capture moments in time, perfect or otherwise. She looked up at him after a moment and smiled. She could see the question etched perfectly on his face. "We’re a thing,” she said softly, resolutely. It wasn’t a whisper, but she spoke soft enough so that it was just for him. She knew he needed, both of them needed, a more direct, sincere answer. Several heated minutes of moving the boundaries had made it pretty clear to Eleanor, anyway. She wanted a repeat session or twelve. Or a hundred. Ellie squeezed his hands, furrowed her brow lightly, tilted her head a bit, suddenly changed course as if she had remembered something out of nowhere. "Aren’t you cold?”

"You two so fucking owe me a month's worth of lunches, you oblivious ignoramus" Lala the wind screeched again, once Ellie informed Styles that she hadn't been murdered, and Sander rolled his eyes. He looked back down at Ellie, swallowing thickly while awaiting for a response. She was smiling... cheekily, and he squinted his eyes, backing away another millimeter. I mean if she got mad, he was practically naked, now tha'd be some serious damage she could do. The fleeting thought to fiercely defend his privates came and went swiftly, because she was speaking soon.

His face morphed from suspicious to surprised in a few seconds, before he smiled dumbly again, reigning in his impulse to nod manically like one of those bobble heads. Yeah, they should've and he'd have to give credit where credit was due, but they had been completely oblivious twats until now. At least he was. Or, you know, just scared shitless... Yeah, the second one was more accurate. He dazedly looked down at where she'd taken his hands in hers, and it felt so damn right. Like he'd actually held her hands for the first time. He squeezed her hands, hoping she'd understand, she'd see that... it was bloody perfect. Right then, right there. It was just right.

He raised his head in time to see her smiling at him and when she'd voiced out his concerns, all dread at an answer dissipated and he nodded seriously. He wasn't a guy of many words, and he hoped she knew it. Even if he would've liked to say something, he was pretty sure the words would've just gotten stuck in his throat. And that would just be awkward. Right? He received her next question with a deeply confused frown, looking down at himself and just then remembering—towel. Tiny towel. He snorted once and raised his eyes to look at her.

He had absolutely no experience with these sort of situations, and truth be told if this was anyone but Ellie, at this point he would've just disapparated to the middle of nowhere to bury his head in some sand or maybe dig a hole to China and just live there. Forever. His confusion slowly disappeared to make room for the rosy start of a blush and a cheeky little smile. "I just might be" he said in a lower voice, a little shy and shaky. "What are you going to do about that" he said after a few seconds, still rather uncertain, but with a playful tone to his voice.

"Uhmm, guys? As fun and entertaining as this has been, I do not need to know whatever comes next. So, uhmm, I'm just gonna... go... somewhere... far away. And I'm gonna text your sleazy creeper of a bro to stay away. Okay? Right. Bye."

Sander instantly cringed and squeezed Ellie's hands in an attempt to apologize. He moved one of her hands on his hip, so he could free a hand only to basically slap himself in the face and mutter some curses through screeched teeth. He waited for a couple of seconds, for the sure sound of Lala's front door opening, and let out a relieved sigh when the sounds finally came.

"Have fun and be safe kids! Use protection, yeah? Buh-bye!" the monster below chirped in an obnoxiously amused voice.

"Shut the fuck up and get lost, Styles—I swear to God" Sander, flushed like hell and practically mortified, started before he heard the loud bang of the downstairs door, and the sure crack of Layla disapparating.

With the sweet declaration of ignoramus floating about them (or below them), Ellie resisted the urge to shout something back at Lala. It was what friends were for, calling each other out. She’d tell her later, that she'd laid it on a little thick. Lovingly. But the conversation at hand required quite a bit of attention. And for all of its importance, there was the added distraction of Lysander in his bath towel. Ellie still had her eyes. Who would blame her? Her gaze flickered over him again— hey, if he wasn’t going to kick her out for breaking in…

A moment after the observation left her mouth, she wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything. Here they were getting cozy, and she was possibly accidentally compelling to put on more clothing (or any clothing). Speaking before thinking it out really could get her into trouble.

But the blush was worth the risk. The red in his cheeks, the smile he wore (much better than a shirt, in Ellie’s opinion) made her own smile return and widen. She had always triumphed in his blush and now was no different… except that she was behaving instead of trying to find the best moment to sneak a photo. There would be time for that.

"What are you going to do about that”

His answer surprised her, but in a good way. Ellie felt a thrill run up her spine. And she was prepared to show him.

Before she could respond, however, Lala chimed in again. With a mouthful. Ellie cringed on the inside. If it was a little funny, it would be much funnier later. Right now, standing here with Sander, it was a little embarrassing.

Sander apparently had no love for Layla Styles. He placed one of Ellie's hands on his hip, but not so that she could resolve his temperature problem. No. It was to give him free range to express himself… in his own Sander-ish way… but Ellie quickly withdrew it, placed it instead on his upper arm, attempting to stop him from acting too glum in the middle of their half-naked snog session. (As in, one half of them was naked). It was hard not to be a little mortified, though, at what came next. Use protection. Merlin. Ellie wasn’t as mortified as Sander, but she was glad his brother wasn’t around to hear Lala’s advice (though no doubt Lester could use it himself).

The hand still holding one of his moved to his face and she stared at him, unabashedly. It wasn’t that she wasn’t nervous, but someone had to stop the awkwardness. “She’s just... giving us her stamp of approval,” Ellie offered wisely, translating, a neutral country in a war zone. She too heard Lala disappear below. “Not that we need it for this,” she whispered, smiling a little again, thinking her best friend would forgive her for setting thoughts of her off to the side in the middle of… this. Ellie loved Lala to Azkaban and back, but she didn’t think that thinking about her while getting closer with Sander was the best idea. Lala must have been on the same wavelength. She’d left, after all.

Ellie put her arms around his neck again, tugging him with her as she took one small, blind steps back toward the very edge of bed, her legs bumping into the mattress. “Lala’s done a good job,” she teased, noting his blush. Maybe she couldn’t resist bringing her up again. Once. “But I still don’t think you’re warm enough.” She did. His heat was wonderful, and she wanted to be closer, even. But it was winter, and he was in a towel, and surely he could use a little more coverage. Of the Ellie sort. She stood in tippy toes and kissed him again, coaxing past his lips with soft and then more intense encouragement. Tangled up in him, she toppled back onto the bed; it was a soft, easy, if sightless landing (her eyes were closed, her hands busy). Her laugh caught against his mouth, a breath, and her arms untangled to travel over his arms and back, the edge of the towel. Something solid bumped her shoulder, and turned her cheek to the side, stopping the kiss momentarily… sort of… to peak at her camera. She pulled her wand from its resting place at her hip and magicked the camera away, back to where she’d found it on the nightstand. Then she pushed her wand toward the mattress’ edge, letting it rest there somewhat precariously. Her attention returned to Sander, where it stayed. She lifted her head a little, kissed his shoulder, grinned against his bare skin. She settled her head back down, hair sprawled under her and looked up at him. “Are you ok?” She asked gently. She knew— or was pretty sure— he hadn’t been this close with anyone in a while.

"I don't—" he started muttering in a petulant sort of way, then stopped to sigh and bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't need her stamp of approval" he said low and threatening, turning to look anywhere but at Ellie. This was ridiculous. Since when did Layla fuckin' Styles have anything to say about his life, much less so his love life. Sander stopped to have a small mental breakdown at realizing, he had just thought of his love life. He actually had one now... Huh, that felt sort of nice.

He turned to look at her, analyzing and a tad suspicious, but gave her a tight small smile. Yeah, they didn't need anyone's approval. Except, maybe Bran's and Sander instantly cringed thinking of that shitstorm hitting the fan. But, best deal with that when they were faced with it. It wouldn't bode well to talk about introducing her to his family fifteen minutes into their... thing. He knew Glenda would love her the second she laid eyes on her She would probably shit bricks when she'd hear about Ellie... For weeks or even months.

He cut off the impulse to jolt when he felt himself being tugged forward to the direction of the bed and for just one tiny second he panicked and was almost on the brink of pushing her away and just get the hell out of Dodge. For all his bravado, even if this was Ellie, Sander still had a bucketload of issues. "No" he mumbled lowly. He was not going to give anymore credit to Lala, God damn it. That woman did not need any sort of encouragement, whether she was there to hear it or not. Fuckin' Lala, man. His blush took a violent shade of bright red when she talked about body warmth again and instinctively his hands went around her waist and just in time because she was kissing him again and it felt good. For a moment it felt bloody wonderful and all his apprehensions disappeared.

But then they were falling back on the bed, and he brought his hands forward on each side of her to support himself and make sure he wouldn't crush her and his heart was beating out of his damn chest. And he felt ridiculous, because he knew it was okay, it was okay with Ellie, but his stupid brain had different thoughts. The kiss was broken momentarily and he turned to look at what had interrupted the moment. He almost smiled, seeing for once, her interest in her camera came second to... whatever this was.

He felt a small shiver at the contact of her lips to his shoulder, but it was immediately followed by a flashback of his teenage years and he bit his tongue harshly and willed his fuckin' breath to return to normal and just stop. Because this wasn't some sadistic Slytherin princess, this was Ellie, his friend, trusted friend first and foremost. He raised a hand to her face, trailing his fingers along her jaw and up to her temple and forehead, and further, sinking it in her hair and lightly twisting a curl around his fingers.

"Yeah" he said in a very small voice, kid of gutted and not really making himself believable even to himself. He shook his head and let out a deep exhale. "I want to—" he continued through clenched teeth. "Be okay, that is. It's just—" he took his hand down the side of her head and drew small circles at the base of her throat, eyes going between her eyes and her lips. "I'm pretty fucked up" he said bitterly letting out a small chuckle. He lowered his head to kiss softly at her jaw, just a brush of his lips. He leaned back to look into her eyes again, eyebrows drawn in concentration and maybe embarrassment. "Can we—Is it okay if we don't" he cursed under his breath. "You know... All the way?" he blushed furiously and resisted the urge to Avada himself into damn oblivion. How was this his life? He felt like a damn twelve year old. Bloody evil bitch—cocked up his entire life.

That he was holding back panic was obvious enough. Between his gentleness— Sander could be surprisingly gentle, sensitive at turns, something she had glimpsed occasionally before this moment… like when he was confronted with a kitten— and his seemingly happy responses, the sweet exploration of her face and hair, she could still tell something was wrong. His voice confirmed it; it was soft lie, followed soon by a confession. She looked up at him calmly, waited for him to elaborate.

She thought she understood, but she was also certain that there was a lot she probably didn’t know. Maybe Leon didn’t even know it all. She had had unpleasant experiences, things that had lasted in her memories more vividly than they should have for longer they should have, but it wasn’t the same thing Sander had gone through. Ellie didn’t have a problem getting close with him sooner rather than later (she had wanted to for a while). But she didn’t have a problem waiting, either, if that was what he needed.

“You’re not fucked up,” she countered just before he kissed her jaw. The tone of her voice suggested she would argue with him on that point, but she gave a tiny, exasperated-in-a-good-way sigh. He was skilled at avoiding important conversations, or giving blunt-but-still-maddeningly-vague answers, but she did appreciate the bits he was giving her. The fact that they were now on kissing terms meant that Sander had more ways to distract or evade, though. She considered this for a few seconds before bringing her palm to his cheek. “We don’t have to tonight.” Her eyes were locked on his, making sure he knew she meant it. She wasn’t going to give him a hard time for not rushing to the finish line. She was pretty sure he wanted to, eventually, anyway. “Besides... you only kissed me for the first time fifteen minutes ago. Take a girl out to dinner first, Sander,” she said with a small scoff. She quickly broke into a smile. She had obviously been joking— but she’d eat anything he made, anyway. “When you’re ready,” she added more sincerely, quietly again so that only he could hear, even if the best downstairs neighbor in the history of downstairs neighbors had stepped out for the night. “I’m happy just doing this.” She leaned up to kiss him again, before murmuring a confession against his lips. “It’s way better than stealing."