He can't sleep. Wide eyes focus on the ceiling as he listens to Fleur's slow, steady breathing beside him. His fingers roam his body, tracing every fresh, ugly scar, and Bill just knows.
The scars aren't the problem. It's the risk, the danger he subjects her to each and every day. This isn't her war. Bill has selfishly dragged her into the fight when she should be home, safe and sound with her family. Fleur deserves so much more than a broken future with a broken man.
Quietly, careful not to wake Fleur, Bill climbs out of bed. He wishes she didn't look so beautiful, so vulnerable when she slept. Maybe it would make it easier to break her heart.
With one final, gentle kiss to her pale cheek, his heart racing, Bill pulls a cloak around his shoulders, making his way to the sitting room. It's for the best, he reminds himself as he tosses a bit of powder into the fireplace to make a call.
"Bill?"
"Yeah, Michael. It's me."
"Blimey. What sort of hour do you call this?"
"Look, mate, do you still need my help breaking into that crypt in Brazil?" Bill asks.
Michael frowns, watching Bill in confusion. "Thought you were getting married. Pretty French girl, yeah?"
Bill hesitates, guilt turning his stomach acidic. Pushing a hand through his mess of hair, he sighs, giving a shrug of his shoulders. "Cancelled. You know how women can be," he laughs, though there's no humor behind it.
His friend doesn't seem to notice. "Met this bird in Nova Scotia. Bloody nightmare, that," he snorts, eyes rolling. "Anyway, when can you get here?"
"Tonight."
"So soon?"
Bill casts a quick glance over his shoulder to the door to his bedroom. Returning his gaze to Michael, he nods. "The sooner, the better."