WHO: Christian Entwhistle & Ingrid Catchlove
WHAT: Aww.
WHEN: The night of her last post
WHERE: Christian's flat
So basically, her life had just collapsed around her.
It wasn't teenaged dramatics like usual, Ingrid knew. Because, well, she knew she had always had a tendency to overdramatize situations and---hell, she was in---er, had been in---Hogwarts and that was just how Hogwarts kids tended to do, make every little problem sound like life and death and the end of the world, but. But no, this
was the end of the world, the end of the world as she'd known it for the past eighteen years. It actually, unbelievably
was.
She wanted to be a kid again. She wanted to get a timeturner and go back to when she was younger and not have to care about adult things like---like babies and parents with ultimatums and huge fucking mistakes that you had to live with for the rest of your life because you were a fucking dumbass and had----Shit, what had she been thinking, wanting to
keep this baby? The guilt she normally felt at thinking that was pushed back effortlessly right now because it was a
valid question, it was---
what had she been thinking when she had made that decision?
She knew what she had been thinking. She had been thinking that even though everything was against her, that things would
somehow work themselves out... hadn't everything else in her life always done that? She had known her parents would be angry, but somewhere in the back of her mind had been a certainty that they would grow to get over it, that they wouldn't leave her as she was----and sure as hell not that they'd tell her to choose between fending for herself or never seeing Christian again.
She didn't even bother with the door, just popped straight into her boyfriend's living room and threw herself onto the couch. "
Chrissssstiaaaaaan" she groaned, voice muffled by the cushions. She didn't really feel like searching him out at the moment, just bloody laying there.
This was, without a doubt, one of the worst situations he'd ever had the displeasure of finding himself in. Under normal circumstances, Christian Entwhistle was a cautious person. He didn't like to take risks. He didn't do things when logic and reason strictly told him not to. ANd yet, despite all of this, he still managed to impregnate a schoolgirl. All in a rare act of reckless thinking where one head had managed to overpower the other.
The minute he'd seen Ingrid's
house he'd known that the meeting with her parents was going to be a disaster. And oh, was he ever right. It was quite possibly the most terrible dinner he'd ever had, and it had nothing to do with the food. With the way her parents kept staring at him, and the way her mother kept gasping... well, he was too nauseous to even touch the food. And judging by Ingrid's last journal entry, things hadn't gone much better after he'd left.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter when the sound of his front door slamming against the wall suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He watched a blonde figure dash across the room and plop uncereminiously into the couch, brows shooting towards his hairline as his name groaned from her mouth. He sighed, ran a hand down his face, then walked over to her, sitting down by her legs and leaning forward so that his elbows were resting on his knees. "...Ingrid. As much as I love the back of you... you think you might turn over to tell me just how much shite we're in?"
Ingrid groaned into the cushions again. Obliging his request was the very last thing she wanted to do, and in fact the only thing she
did want to do was lay there and disappear. She wasn't even at home anymore, but still the angry, disappointed looks of her parents were clear in her mind's eye and she just wanted to curl into a ball and hide away from them and not have to deal with this stupid unfair ultimatum shit. Did it really even matter if she'd come over here against their wishes if they were already that upset with her anyway? It's not like she could lose their trust or respect---after dinner, those were two things she was probably never going to see the likes of again.
After a few long moments, she sighed and shifted around into a facing-up position, but still made no move to sit up straight. What was the point, when she looked like a mess already? Correct posture wasn't going to help that much any.
"Think about how much shite we could possibly be in... and now multiply that by a thousand," she muttered in tired, humorless tone. "Repeat those steps a few times and then you'll be getting close to how much shite we're
actually in."
He stared at her for a long while ater she'd spoken, his face a stoic mask. He'd been expecting that answer, or something similiar at the very least, but that didn't make it suck any less, now did it? Swiping a hand through the dark locks of his hair, he sank back against the cushions of the couch, absently picking her legs up and laying them across his lap as his gaze turned to follow a long crack in the ceiling. Merlin. What the hell were they going to do?
He wanted to make light of the situation, to say something to cheer her up. But how could he? He felt like his stomach and his lungs were doing a circus act, making it extremely hard to do so much as draw a breath without wanting to vomit all over himself. "Shit," he whispered, and dug the heels of his palms against his eyebrows. "What... what happened?"
She watched his worried movements, all the while anticipating his question and all the while wondering how the fuck to put it. How much did she want right now to be able to tell him that things were going to be alright? It wasn't like she was the only one in a complete and utter fuck-up here. She may have been young and on the verge of losing her family, but he had no way to handle this situation either. It was when she remembered that that Ingrid wondered just how bad of an idea it would be to just let her parents have their way---if it hadn't meant their son never seeing his father, and if she didn't know that she would go bloody insane if she couldn't be with him, maybe she might have agreed to their terms.
"There was... a lot of yelling. And my mum crying. And a lot of my siblings trying to reason with my dad, and a lot of that not working. And there was a lot of me trying to take in the idea that if I want any hope of having a home and the help of my parents, then I had better well cut you out of the picture."
She gave a moment for that to sink in and stared at him, then let out a sigh and continued. "And the idea that my parents are probably never going to forgive me when I tell them tomorrow that I chose you over them."
Christian felt about ready to off himself, to be perfectly honest. Every word she said was envoking such feelings of guilt as he'd never known, his hands slowly falling away from his face to reveal staring, haunted eyes, unfocused and gazing straight ahead. If he had just been stronger. If he had just said no. This was a girl, a girl who was just graduating school and should have the whole world ahead of her. Rich, beautiful, smart... and he'd fucked her. Literally. And now, thanks to him, she was reduced to nothing but the mother of his child.
That pause in her speech finally caused him to stir, however, head inclining slightly to stare at her, lips turned in to form a thin line. She had a choice. She had a choice to make between a happy life and a life with him. He had nothing to offer her. Not really. So what kind of stupid, unreasonable bint would she be to choose the latter?
Apparently one that he was in love with, he thought as he expelled the breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding, a shuddering sigh deflating him into the couch as one hand siezed unexpectedly around her ankle as though to brace him there with her. "You're daft," he gasped, and let his head collapse against the backrest, gulping harshly as the reality of this rattled him to his core. "Shit, Ing... Shit. You're insane. You're absolutely...." But he couldn't find the words to go on, because he was so torn between feeling elated and furious at her.
"I know," she answered, almost talking more to herself than she was to him. "I know." She
was insane, by all means, she was making a decision that no person thinking rationally, thinking practically would have. Poverty over wealth and struggle over ease? It didn't add up at all, she knew that... And she also knew that if she didn't refuse her parents now, the only company that she had awaiting her in the comfort of their big, pretty home were guilt, anger, and loneliness.
The thought of her parents having their way and of a life with a little boy who wasn't allowed to know his father made her sick. But more than anything, the idea of a life that didn't have Christian in it terrified her----the only thing scarier was knowing just how much she needed him to be there to do this with her, to even function in the first place.
Ingrid finally moved from her laying posture, forcing herself to sit up as she looked at his face. Her eyes locked on his even though his were nowhere near hers and her hand went over the one around her ankle. "I'm insane, but I've never been surer that there's no other choice. There's just you."
His mouth felt dry, his chest on the verge of collapsing. How in the world had he managed to fall in love with a girl who was about as stupid as she was beautiul? This was why, as much as they joked about it, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws didn't really mix well. But now was no time to be thinking like that, was it? Not when she was sitting there telling him that she chose him over a life ripe with privelage and reward. Daft. She was a right looney.
Her hand on his caused him to jerk a bit, being so worked up and lost in his own thoughts. Blinking at her owlishly, he shook his head dumbly side to side, mouth agape at her. "I... We..." Shit. Any other guy would have been able to say the right thing, or maybe even the wrong thing at this moment. But him? He couldn't find the words to say anything. So he snapped his jaw shut and just sort of stared at her for a long while as he tried to form a coherent sentence. This was what he came up with:
"You don't know what you're doing, Ing... I'm... Look at this! This, this isn't for you, I mean... Shit." It was obvious that he didn't mean a word of it. It was just a half-hearted last attempt to save her, to steer her in what they both knew was the right direction.
Despite the obvious lack of conviction in Christian's voice, she rolled her eyes at him. Weight of the situation aside, a tiny, dry laugh escaped her mouth--somewhere between forced and genuine--and she shook her head in slight disbelief. "Maybe I don't, but if you keep saying stuff like that, that would have me turning around and prancing off back to my parents, I swear you won't be living long enough to see me leave." It was a joke, but her voice was tense the whole way through and it sounded as if he
did tell her to go back, she'd probably do more of crying than killing.
Ingrid squeezed a couple of his fingers and tried to smile---she was surprised with the freeness and ease in it, but looking at him, it was a natural reaction. Even though she wanted to just hit him and tell him to tell her to stay before he started making
her doubt things. It was unlikely, but hell, a big part of her was afraid that the sureness was going to rush away somehow at any second and leave her there not knowing what to do again. She liked the sureness, she liked knowing what to do, and she didn't need him convincing her out the door at a time like this.
"Just bloody----shut up, Christian---Do you think it even matters?" she asked rhetorically. "I love you. To me, that's a lot better judge of what is and what isn't for me than some---some overanalyzing Ravenclaw."
He couldn't even muster the right frame of mind to act indignant or offended. He was distracted by those three words, a confession that made him want to... well, he didn't know
what to do with himself. it was a toss up between laughing his fool head off and exploding into a million frustrated pieces. He was leaning more towards the latter, but that seemed to help soothe him. At least a little bit. Sighing so that his cheeks puffed out, he gave her a tilted look and slowly shook his head. "You're insane," he said again, only this time there was infinite fondness in his voice. "Do you realize what you're doing?"
He wasn't trying to question her intelligence or her willpower. Lord knew that she had enough of that for an entire common room full of Gryffindors. But he didn't want her to throw everything away for him. A starving, dirt-poor artist who could barely take care of himself, let alone a family.
He moved a bit closer to her on the couch, glancing discreetly down at her stomach. There was something... no, some
one growing there. And it was part of him. Gulping harshly as he reminded himself of that (it still made him dizzy), he squeezed her hand back before lifting it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss into the center of her palm.
"Oy, Einstein," she answered back with an arched brow. Her left palm met lightly with his forehead in a playful gesture. "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I want
you before it gets through that head of yours?"
Ingrid glanced around the tiny apartment--after all, one could see nearly every room from any one point in the place--and in her mind knew that he was right, that she
must be crazy. This was not the life she had grown up in, and not the life she had ever imagined herself to be in. But here she was, feeling completely right in saying that this was what she wanted. Forget the money and the big house and the comfortable life; she knew (had known for a while?) that none of that meant much compared to what she could have right here, in this tiny apartment, with him and this baby.
"Look," she continued. Ingrid looked back to him, her tone fallen to serious again. "No distance that my parents put between us is going to change what I feel for you, and I'm not about to be miserable without you for the benefit of a bunch of fancy things. Just trust me---I
get it. I still want it."
He paused before nodding once, his free hand used to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. She was so stubborn... it was bound to cause problems for them in the future, but for right now he loved her all the more for it. Of course he was going to try and give her and their son all the things he knew they deserved... nice things, nice home, nice everything. She was barely past her first trimester and he was already worried about being an insufficient father.
He kissed her hand again before releasing it, dropping both of his own hands to trail idle patters against her shin. "...As long as... you're sure." He glanced away, then peered back at her, the ghost of a smile playing around the corenrs of his mouth.
"I'm
always sure," she replied with a tiny smirk, and leaned forward to press her lips firmly against his. It had been a long time since since she'd felt the touch of his lips, and an even longer time since she'd felt not in the least bit guilty or strange about it. The whole baby thing had made physical contact wordlessly awkward and somewhat more scarce, at least in some senses, but in this moment none of that mattered.
Ingrid was still upset about how things had gone with her parents. She still couldn't quite fathom the fact that she was tomorrow going to be saying goodbye to them, and their respect, for what would probably be a very long time. But she would deal with that when the time came, she told herself, because for the moment she was determined to enjoy this happy--albeit bittersweet--beginning.
She pulled back a second later, then pulled herself forward to sit on his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "It's all going to be okay." More to herself than it was to him, the comment was muttered against his skin.
He couldn't help but roll his eyes playfully at her response. Always sure. Right. That's what had gotten them into this in the first place, hadn't it? But he wisely kept that thought to himself and returned her kiss, sighing softly and leaning forward off the back of the couch to press his lips more insistantly against hers.
When she pulled away, he blinked those cocoa orbs at her, brow creasing as though to question the sudden distance between them. But she closed it seconds later by scooching into his lap, her next words rumbling against the sensitive skin of his neck. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, carefully so as not to... squish her or anything... and leaned his forehead down against her shoulder with a mute nod. If she was looking for him to agree with her, he wouldn't... he couldn't. But he was going to try, try and make it so that she never regretted the decision she made for him.
Pulling back, he stared down at her for a few seconds before saying the one thing he
could be sure of: "I love you, Ing."
Ingrid pulled her head back and felt a wide smile pull up at the sides of her lips. The warmth that those three words sent rushing through her was nearly dizzying, and enough to make it impossible to keep a straight face, even if she
had wanted to. He didn't need to reassure her about anything as long as he said that--after all, that's what she was staying for, right?
God, she had to be making some kind of a mistake. She knew she had to be because she'd made nothing but mistakes for the past few months running, but even more she knew that this
was the right thing to do. This felt like she was going down the right path, regardless of what few logical brain cells she possessed were screaming at her. And since when had Ingrid Catchlove followed her mind over her heart, anyway? That was Christian's job, to be all analyzing and pratical and jesus christ they were the most incompatible compatible pair ever.
This was going to be so very interesting.
She laughed at that thought, not really thinking about how she probably looked crazy laughing at apparently nothing at all, and leaned in to kiss him again. "Love you, too."
Incompatible didn't even begin to scratch the surface of it. This wasn't going to be easy. He was actually a little nervous that Ingrid didn't fully grasp that concept. What if she thought this was going to turn out like some sort of fairy tale? She had an immature side that made him nervous when he thought about their future together... hell, she was already making him go against his very way of thinking, and the boy hadn't even been born yet!
But when she leaned in to kiss him again he was already there to meet her half way, one arm snaking so that his hand was at the small of her back while the other cupped her cheek, pulling her closer as his tongue snaked past her teeth to graze her own. WHile their mouths were still joined, he used the hand at the small of her back to slip beneath the fabric of her shirt, tracing patterns against her skin before he dragged his hand forward so that it rested between them. On her stomach. He broke their kiss to look up at her, his face impassive save for the gleam of... what was it... contentment? fear? love? panic? all of the above? there in his large eyes.
Her skin warmed in the shape of his hand, and she could have sworn she felt one of those weird little flutters that Gillian had been talking about. She couldn't tell for certain--maybe it was just that she was thinking about it--and shook the idea away. Four months and she hadn't felt a single thing, and it was probably just getting carried away in the moment that had her thinking that
his touch could have made their tiny (tiny, she was certain, because she was
nowhere near the size Gillian had been just a month ago) baby move.
"Five more months," she said, tone somewhere between worry and peace. "It doesn't seem like very long when I remember that we haven't even begun to think about preparing." Seriously, this kid was going to come way too quickly. Unlike most mothers-to-be, Ingrid would have kept him inside for another year if she could have. Even then, she wasn't certain that she'd be ready to handle everything that came with having a kid. If nothing else terrified her about this,
that did. What kind a mother could she be, anyway? Merlin, she hoped she didn't... ruin his life or something like that. She had no experience, no idea what to do or where to start and---oy.
