22 Sept 2012
10:00pm, Saturday
Stardust Theatre, Covent Garden

The audience filtered out of Stardust Theatre's main doors into the warm summer London night. Many Apparated quickly away to bed at home. Others chatted about drinks somewhere. One fashionable couple, Figaro Sellaphix and Wilhemena Gunn, were among those taking their time to wander away. They were both dressed so well and Wilhemena liked to be seen. She was in layered, flowing white sheer fabrics and glowed in the night-light. Figaro's outfit was similarly summery and youthful.

They'd seen one of maestro Edgar Carstairs' signature pirate productions. It had been well-reviewed and Figaro and Wil had both enjoyed themselves along with everyone else, probably. Figaro found some novelty in seeing his friend Virgil's father acting on stage.

Once outside, Figaro moved to light a cigarette - a habit he'd started this summer, stupidly - but Wilhemena shortly plucked it away. Normally, this kind of thing turned him on, but he reacted testily this evening.

"You smoke more than I do," he said.

"Why so sore? Thinking about that girl again?" Wilhemena asked with a glint in her eye. Figaro had introduced her to an ex-girlfriend of his at a party last week which Wilhemena had thought very embarrassing for him even if he didn't seem at all aware of that.

"Sophie? No," Figaro replied. This wasn't the first time Wil had said something. It allowed Wil to criticize him about something in a way that prompted him to beg her forgiveness. Fig would play along gamely. He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged, ready to do just that. Engage in their bizarre foreplay.

"I told you, we're just friends. Old news. I'm yours forever."

Next, Wilhemena was supposed to give him a self-satisfied look, some touch of affection, and then move on to some other topic. But not this time. This time her look darkened to a true disapproval that Figaro hadn't seen before.

"What?" he asked with a laugh, perceptive enough to catch on. She didn't answer. Instead, knowing full well what she was doing, she took out her own cigarette and lit it herself. Another break in the script.

"What? What did I say," Figaro insisted, without the laugh.

"I thought we were having fun."

"Right. We are..." Figaro was confused.

"Hm."

"You're not having fun? What do you want me to do?" It was usually easy to tell. And if he didn't catch on, she'd make it clear, and he'd happily do it, no matter how silly it was.

"If you can't answer that, I can't help you." Wil replied uncooperatively.

"Um, alright, sorry. Drinks at Signature? Your place?" He tried.

Wil shrugged, smoking, her eyes half-lidded and uninterested. "I think not. I might meet a friend."

"That's fine..." Figaro wondered if this was just some new game of hers. "You're actually upset, though, right?"

She ashed her cigarette. "What reason have I to be upset?"

Figaro sighed, starting to get exasperated. That nervous laughter had come back. "I -- just, what you want? She's just a friend. There's nothing there. It's been years. I thought you were joking."

"It's not about her," Wil said. She swallowed an unwanted and unexpected lump in her throat, realizing that it was time. It had been coming for a little bit. She'd told her friends as much. Figaro had become clingy. She worried he was falling in love. The beginning of the end. It would be better for them both to end it before it fell apart.

"You're too emotional. And now it's messy and ... I don't want that."

Figaro was flabbergasted. It had gone so quickly from a nice night headed towards nicer love-making to ... whatever this was. Wil wasn't playing. She was serious. His heart started beating fast.

"No, it's fine. I'm sorry. I won't do that anymore. I love you, Wil. I'd never do anything to hurt you," he said, working to brush this up. He hadn't said 'love' to her before; it just came out.

Wil took a long draw on her cigarette, raised a hand in resignation, and began to step away. "Love? That's exactly the kind of thing I mean. I think it's better we go our separate ways, before things get complicated."

She cocked her head, her face all of concern but seeming not to be crushed by the loss. She'd promised herself an uncomplicated love life, after all she'd been through. She deserved happiness and an over-attached puppy dog was more work than she wanted.

Figaro was stunned. "What the fuck! You're breaking up with me? I thought - we -" he whispered and stammered to a stop.

Wilhemena furrowed her brow and tisked. "Oh, dear, you're making a scene. It was fun until it wasn't. Let's just enjoy it for what it was. You've been a lovely, lovely laugh. But let's call it over. Alright."

She moved closer, just enough to pat him on the arm. Figaro was still speechless. His mind was blank on what he could say to fix this, knowing on some level any passionate plea would only prove Wil right, that he was too far in. He raked his hands through his hair. She'd walked away, found someone she know, and linked arms with them with her bright laugh.