Cold Coffee

When I wake up the bed's empty and despair punches my stomach with a speed that's sickening, so I'm panicking before I'm even properly aware of why. My hands are stretching across the empty patch beside me, grasping at air, and my brain is trying to shake off the fog of sleep and I can't remember if she was really there or if it was just another dream. I sit up and there's no sign of her, no singing from the bathroom and no red hair dashing out the door. I think I must have dreamt it, at first – but then I see something very pink thrown over my bedside table, and relief swoops in so I can properly breathe for the first time since waking. It's her singlet, draped haphazardly over my glasses, and its presence means that I wasn't dreaming. She was really here.

And if she was really there, then she…she really left.

The second wave of despair drags me under worse than the first, because her being here then leaving is worse than her never being here at all. We're still walking on eggshells, tentatively trying to figure out where we stand now that we're friends who have shagged a couple of times, and the thought of coming this close to finally getting her and failing now is enough to make me roll over and bury my face in my pillow.

Maybe if I suffocate myself here I won't have to face the merciless embarrassment of everyone finding out that she ditched me.

I feel like one of Padfoot's girls, after he shags them and sneaks out before they wake up.
… Poor things.

My head is throbbing from the firewhiskey I drank last night, and I think I'm just going to stay here all day.

And then there's the creak of the door opening, and the sound of bare feet padding across the floor. I open one eye and roll over just enough to get a look at whoever it is –
But as soon as I see her standing there in the same dress she wore last night I bolt upright, startling her so much she nearly spills the two drinks she's holding.

She recovers enough to smile at me and say, "Morning."

"I thought you'd gone," I blurt out, shoving my glasses onto the bridge of my nose.

She laughs, so genuinely that my frown melts into a smile, and tells me, "I just went to get us some liquid breakfast."

She holds one of the cups out to me, and I breathe deep the smell of coffee. "Thanks, Lils," I say genuinely, grabbing the cup and taking a sip.

It's delicious, but a bit too hot, so I place it on the bedside table to cool down. She sips her own drink – it'll be tea, with no milk and two sugars, the same as she has every morning – and observes me over the rim of her cup.

Through the window, down on the grounds, I can hear students laughing and chatting, and there are the sounds of a Quidditch practice session happening in the distance.

"Pretty much everyone else is up, you know," she says. I groan and collapse backwards. She continues, "It's a beautiful day."

"To stay in bed," I say, and she laughs again. "Please come back to bed, we can go back to sleep."

The mattress shifts as she sits beside me, and as she stretches over the top of me to put her cup beside mine I admire the curve of her chin, the line of her collarbone, sharp against her skin, and the dip where her neck joins her shoulder. As she settles back she drags her hand over my bare chest in a motion that I'm not sure was entirely accidental, and a shiver runs down my spine. She giggles, and I can't help but laugh along with her, because her laugh is musical and joyous and so damn infectious.

My fingers trace the pulse point at her wrist, and she bends forward to kiss me softly. My hands weave into her hair, to the back of her neck, letting the ginger strands slide through my fingers.

"Will you stay?" I murmur against her lips, "With me?"

She nods and kisses me once more before straightening up.

"Move over then," she says, lightly batting my side, "I can't get in the bed if you don't make room for me."

I gesture at my chest and raise an eyebrow. "I think there's plenty of room for you, right here -"

"Sod off, Potter," she says, but her giggle ruins the scathing effect I'm sure she was going for.

She slides in beside me, snuggling under the covers, and plants a trail of kisses along my jaw. Her hand slides across my chest, dances along my shoulder, cups the side of my face as she swings one of her legs over my waist and perches on my hips. I slide her dress off over her head and she bends forward, bare skin cold against mine and deliciously reminiscent of last night.

She kisses me, long and hard, and I let my hands roam over the smooth canvas of her skin, memorising the dips and curves and spaces where my fingers fit perfectly. She gasps my name into my mouth and I drink her in, kissing her own name in a pattern down the side of her neck, nibbling her ear and flipping her over so that I can cover her entire body with my own.

My coffee goes cold.

Afterwards, when we've collapsed into a tangle of limbs and I can feel her heart racing beneath my ear, I murmur, "That was a fantastic wake up call."

I feel her laugh as well as hear it, deep and genuine and almost as perfect as the sounds I drew out of her just a few moments ago. She laughs and laughs and laughs, until she's pushed me off her so she can keep on laughing, and all I can do is laugh along with her because I feel so bloody good it's ridiculous.

"Seriously," I say once I've calmed down a bit, "if you want to sleep here again, feel free."

I'm not sure if she hears me.

Her eyes are closed and there's a pleased smile on her swollen lips. She exhales softly, and I wonder how deep her sleep is. I take her hands in mine and rest them on my chest, right above my heart, as I let myself drift back into a dreamless sleep.

[-]

She's not there when I wake up again, late in the afternoon.

I try not to be too disappointed.

We're just friends, after all.

Friends who shag. Quite a bit and very well.

Nothing serious.

It's not like I'm falling in love with her or anything.

Not actual, proper love.

No way.

I just fancy her.

Totally different thing.

Fancying and shagging does not a love make.

Right?

[-]

She slips into my bed that night, clasps my hand and puts it over her heart.

"I'd like to stay," she whispers, "With you."


a.n. based on ed sheeran's cold coffee, very lovely song, 10/10 would recommend. thank you so much for your hits, follows, favourites, reviews and patience. you guys are seriously the best and i'm so grateful to all of you. i really hope you like this soppy chapter, please let me know! also i promise i am working on the prompts some of you sent in (months and months ago), i'm just really struggling with a few of them. but they'll be here soon, don't worry. thanks again, love to you all.