A/N: I promise, I promise, she'll talk to him in the next chapter. One last filler before I'm satisfied, lol.
She was dying.
Okay, so she wasn't really, but she might as well have been, for what she felt.
It was five fifty-eight, and there was still not a single word coming out of James's mouth.
Five fifty-eight!
Nobody could go that long without talking, let alone James Potter. How was he doing it? She longed to ask him – for later reference, because she was sure they would fight again. Maybe if he wanted to play truth at a later time, that would be her question.
She could just imagine it – her asking, completely matter-of-factly, "So James, how do you endure long silences in a broom cupboard with a girl you've loved since you were eleven years old after you've fought with her?"
It was too hideous to even picture.
She groaned to herself; she knew someone would have to give in soon. It was inevitable. Someone always had to give up in an argument. It was only a matter of who it would be. For them, it was either her, Lily, or him, James.
Normally, she would make sure it was James that cracked first, but this was not a normal situation; she was almost certain right then that it would be her, because she honestly couldn't stand this.
She was antsy; she was frustrated; she was tired; she was a bit lonely.
She wanted to talk to someone, and he was her only option. She wasn't used to spending this much time without using her voice.
She opened her mouth, experimenting with some conversation-starters in her mind, but none of them sounded right to her.
She longed to yell at him – scream at him, shake his shoulders, make him be the insolent arse she had hated for years and years.
But she couldn't do that.
So, instead, she slid a little further in her seated position, began braiding/unbraiding a thick strand of her thick red hair, and all the while, thought, 'I'm so screwed, I'm so screwed, I'm so screwed.'
What a night this was going to be.