AN: For the Scrabble Challenge (prompt: quench)

I.

She wakes up, immediately aware that the spot on the bed beside her is empty. "Scor?" Rose yawns, rolling over, her arms closing on thin air.

Still groggy, she sits up, stretching and staring at the place her boyfriend should be. On his pillow is a note in familiar handwriting made untidy in a rush.

Rosie,

I hate just leaving like this. I can't explain. I'm young, and I can't just settle yet. There has to be more out there, and I want to see it.

This isn't over. I promise.

Yours,

Scorpius

II.

The next letter is on a postcard. No return address. No actual words. Just a generic "Greetings from Dublin" addressed to her.

"Tosser," Rose grumbles.

Part of her hopes he stays gone. Rose knows that if he returns, her cousins will be happy to break every bone in his body. And yet she finds herself holding the postcard to her chest, cradling it against her body like the lover who had sent it.

III.

Rosie,

Paris is lovely. Wish you were here.

Yours,

Scorpius

IV.

The letters become too scarce. Maybe once every two weeks. Each one puts him farther and farther away.

Berlin, Istanbul, Tokyo.

Each letter feels more and more like a goodbye. Each word is a cut in her heart, a painful reminder that he's gone away and may not return.

Still, Rose traces his signature on each one. She holds the letters close, inhaling deeply, trying to catch the familiar scent of him. And she keeps each and every one tucked in her drawer, safe and sound.

V.

Three months, and not a word.

"Just forget about him, Rose," Lorcan says. "Move on."

She laughs. "I don't want to."

"You need to."

She starts to answer, but he catches her in a kiss, fingers tangling in her hair. It isn't the sort of chaste kiss friends sometimes share to satisfy their curiosity and need to experiment. It's hungry, needing, years of watching and wanting colliding against her lips.

And she wishes it could quench her desire to feel something, to have someone. She wishes it could be the cure that makes her whole again and sets her free.

Instead, she cries, pulling away, because he isn't Scorpius.

VI.

She wakes up, fists flying as she feels pressure on the other side of the bed. Her knuckles crash into something solid, something that hisses.

"Bloody hell, Rose!"

Her heart drops to her stomach when she recognizes the voice. "Scor?" she gasps, sitting up on her knees, squinting to make out his shape in the darkness.

"Were you expecting someone else?" he laughs, though she can hear the uncertainty behind his casual tone.

Months apart, and he's back. He's finally come home to her. After all her fears that he'd never return...

She leans in, jaw clenched. "You prick! You selfish, bloody prick!" she yells, emphasizing each word by slamming her palms against his chest. "How dare you! You just- Do you really think-?"

Her words begin to tangle, but it doesn't matter because he grabs her wrists firmly, pressing a hard, silencing kiss to her lips. "Let me explain," he whispers.

She almost gives in. Almost.

"Couch."

"What?"

"You can do all the explaining you want after you've spent the night on the couch."

She's sure he's about to argue, but he slumps forward with a sigh. "Fine."

VII.

She's caught somewhere between sleep and reality when the other side of the bed creaks again. "Couch," she murmurs.

His arms wrap around her. "I spent too much time without sleeping by your side," he says, pulling her closer.

Rose is too tired to fight. She rests her head against his chest, drifting off peacefully.

VIII.

"Why'd you go away?" she asks, trying to keep her tone stern and not to be swayed by the fact that he's made breakfast.

"I wanted to know if there was more out there."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

Scorpius grins sheepishly, a soft pink creeping into his cheeks. "No. I realized it was right in front of me this whole time."