"Now this is something for Sick Sad World," Daria commented lightly as Trent slumped back into the room. There was a chipped mug of steaming coffee in his hands and a lazy twist to the corners of his mouth. He was also shirtless and that was like a rush of air to her lungs-
The sixteen year old inside of Daria reared her adolescent head, heart-shaped eyes and all. The twenty-six year old Daria attempted to cram her back inside because she's a grown woman damn it, and just because somebody spiked the punch at the reunion does not give her leeway to pounce on her teenage crush.
He could be a crazed mass-murderer. Or worse: married.
"What, Daria?" Trent said as he handed her the mug. Daria ignored the fact that their fingers brushed because she was trying to ignore what those fingers did a few hours before. "That we slept together, or that I made you coffee?"
Daria contemplated the scenario for a moment. "The fact that you woke up before eight in the morning."
"Huh." Trent climbed back into the bed behind Daria. She didn't turn around. "I guess I did."
They were quiet for a moment. Daria nursed the mug of coffee while counting the dust motes caught in the lone streak of sunlight that had broken into the room. Trent unconsciously (or fully aware of his actions) traced the bare skin between Daria's shoulder blades. Goosebumps pattered along her arms because Trent's hands were soft.
"We should probably talk about this," Daria said, not really meaning it.
Trent shifted behind her, both hands coming up to rest on her shoulders. He leaned in to brush his lips against the hollow of Daria's neck. "Probably."
"We, uh. Don't have to," Daria's breath hitched at the slight scrape of teeth against her throat. "Not right now, anyway."
There was a lazy smile against her skin. "Alright."
Daria placed the mug on the bedside drawer before linking hands with the ones on her shoulders. The coffee was stone-cold by the time she remembered to drink it.