Room Service
Chapter 20
It takes monumental effort on her part to drag herself to work the next day.
The evidence of the disquiet churning inside her stomach plays out obviously enough on Lily's face that Mary's brows furrow as soon as she spots her walking towards the reception that evening.
"What's happened, love?"
"What?" Lily busies herself with settling in for the day; placing down coffee tumbler; pinning name tag onto shirt; logging into the system; avoiding eye contact for as long as possible. "Nothing. Everything's fine."
"Maybe if you tried saying that with a bit more gusto, I can at least pretend to believe you."
Teeth sink over lip. "I just… it was just—" Her voice chokes off, walls of her throat pressing in, eyes blinking rapidly as she looks at Mary. Oh, no. Oh, God. Not now. "Last night… there was—and I—I tried not to let it happen, but, um—but it did? And I couldn't explain, or—"
"Oh, babe…" Mary whispers, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Lily, pulling her down to sit on the vacant chair behind the counter. She angles her body to hide Lily's wet, tear-streaked face from the open view of the lobby, and rubs soothing hands down her arms. "Shh, love. It's alright. I didn't mean to push you like that, I'm sorry. Do you need some water?"
Lily shakes her head, roughly wiping at her cheeks, blowing out heavy, shuddering breaths until the knot in her chest loosens a little. Fuck, that came out of nowhere. Her face flushes. "I'm fine. It's fine. Don't worry."
But Mary's head tilts, eyes sympathetic. "This is about Potter, isn't it?"
"How—" Her lips rub together, fingers curl into fists. "Is it that obvious?"
"I mean, he, um—" Mary winces slightly, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. "He looked more than a little bummed too, when he left for office in the afternoon."
"Oh."
"I'm so sorry." She bites her lip. "You wanna talk about it?"
Lily tosses her head back, a humourless, bitter huff of laughter filtering out as her thumb catches another wayward drop of tear. "I really don't right now. And besides—" she smiles sadly, looking back down. "Don't think it's the right, ah, setting for me to discuss this anyway."
Understanding widens in Mary's brown eyes. "Oh, so it's that sort of a problem."
"Yeah."
"Did you…" voice lowers, "shag him?"
Green eyes scrunch shut. "No. We snogged."
"Oh, Lil. That's honestly—it's not that bad. You know, you don't have to—"
"Please, Mare." She looks at her again, expression pained, and exhales heavily. "I can't—you know how I feel about this—"
Mary still seems like she has a lot to say on the matter, but a prolonged glance at the misery lining Lily's face finally makes her relent. A sigh; a begrudging nod. "Yeah, alright. I understand."
WhatsApp Private Chat
Sirius Black to Lily Evans
20/10/2021 07:25 p.m.
xxxxxx
Unknown Number: Evans
Lily: Who is this?
Unknown Number: Guest from 208
Lily: You could have just said it was you Sirius
Sirius: Would be very presumptuous of me to think you'd remember me, wouldn't it?
Lily: I think that ship sailed when you asked me to help you stage your own murder
Sirius: Oh yeah
That was a good idea
Why didn't you agree to it, again?
Lily: I didn't not agree actually
We got side-tracked
Sirius: Dammit
Anyway
Lily: Finally
Sirius: I'm still out on client-site visit for another two days
And I have a shipment coming into the hotel for delivery in a bit
Could you collect it for me please
Lily: Yes sure absolutely
Sirius: Oh and give it to Prongs
James I mean
Evans?
Hello?
Lily: Sorry yes
I got a call
Alright
I'll give it to him once he's back from office
Sirius: Thanks Evans
Owe you one
Lily: No problem
The dreaded package arrives shortly after her messages from Sirius do. It's a big, slightly heavy-weight item wrapped up neatly with gold gift paper and a maroon ribbon on top. She thanks the delivery man during collection, sets the package carefully inside one of the shelves under the desk, and then proceeds to eye it like it contains a ticking bomb for several minutes after.
In a way, she supposes, it really is one—especially since it signifies a countdown until the minute James walks in through the hotel doors, and instead of running away to the loo until he goes upstairs like she'd initially planned to do, she'll now have to face him, talk to him, give him the package, and in the process of doing all of this, implode spectacularly.
Lily sighs, rubbing a hand roughly down her face.
Ugh.
To have to deal with this on top of struggling with the question of why James has evidently not shared any of what took place last night with Sirius proves to be a torture unlike any she has encountered before.
Rather fortunately, the phone on the counter starts ringing at that exact moment—a sound that almost makes her flinch angrily now—and she gets up to attend to the call, pushing away all thoughts of gifts and impending uncomfortable conversations from her mind. It's an external request to connect to a guest in 401, so Lily passes the call through the PBX and then drums her fingers morosely on the desk, struggling to keep herself busy as the night proceeds and the rush of work diminishes.
A quick scan through the booking list on the computer reveals that they're expecting only one more check-in for the day, somewhere around midnight. Figuring there's way too much time to kill until then, she locks the computer, picks up her empty coffee tumbler, and leaves for the kitchens to get a fresh fill.
An hour and a strange chain of events later, Lily finds herself stepping off the elevator onto the second-floor corridor, Sirius's gift box held between hands and a spare key card to 209 balanced on top of the package. She licks her lips, gives herself two extra seconds to reconsider her plan, and then, still takes the cowardly way out by walking ahead.
After having spent more time than she had expected to in the kitchens—chatting away with Kingsley as she refilled her coffee, let it go cold, and reheated it again—Lily had walked out into the staff hallway only to hear Hestia's frantic voice emerging from the linen room a few steps back. And though she'd had more than her fair share of recollections about this area in particular over the past twenty hours or so, she'd still gone back to check in on the problem.
Upon her arrival and questioning, the girl had revealed, in a rather frustrated tone, that the guest from room number something-that-she-did-not-care-to-recall had somehow managed to tear through the curtains during the night, and the Housekeeping team had unfortunately received the unpleasant shock when they'd been cleaning the man's room that day.
And while it was definitely one of the weirder instances that deserved to be noted down in the hotel's history book, Lily's mind had stuttered, jumped, toppled to fixate on a whole other detail: the Housekeeping department had unfettered access to all the rooms, which reminded her—so did she.
With that realization popping into mind, she'd blurted out a request to Hestia to cover the reception for five minutes, and practically tripped over her own feet in her haste to get to the counter and carry the gift upstairs.
The way she saw it, there would be no reason to engage in an awkward, stilted conversation with James if she got the package delivery out of the way by simply placing it in his room before he got back.
Two birds with one stone, or something like that.
Except, even now, as she stands before the door to 209, key card in hand, everything in her stomach churning and queasy, none of what's happening feels even close to victory.
A deep breath, a shake of the head, and then she's pushing open the door to his suite, slotting the card into place near the entry to light up the darkened room. The space looks neater than any other time Lily has visited it in James's presence, but that's to be expected when the Housekeeping staff members have run their magic and pulled fresh sheets over the bed and vacuumed the floor. But she spies one of his familiar black shirts slung over the back of a chair, and a stupid, silly pang pulls through her chest at the sight.
Fuck. Focus.
With that bit of recentring accomplished, she walks further into the room, towards the desk where they'd taken shots earlier in the week. She firmly shoves those memories away as well, and places the gift box atop the table, releasing a calming breath.
There. Job done.
"Hey."
"Holy motherfuck—" heart banging, pulse thundering, Lily twists around on her feet with wide eyes. There, standing just inside the threshold, James watches her with arched brows and a small, amused smile. He lightly kicks the door shut behind him with the heel of his shoe, takes a few steps forward, and stuffs a hand inside the pocket of his dark trousers, other one dropping his laptop bag onto a chair. What are the fucking chances. "Oh. Hi. You're um—back early."
"Yeah, finished up with work, so…" he considers her, staring long enough that she has to avert her gaze. "Didn't expect to find you up here."
"I was just dropping by a package." She moves to the side so that he can spot it. It won't do for him to think that this is just something she does now—sneaking into his room while he's away like some desperate creep. "Sirius asked me to collect it and give it to you."
"Right." He frowns, fingers of his right hand tugging at unruly hair. "You could have given it to me downstairs as well."
Oh, Jesus.
"Yeah, I know. I just—I thought this would be, um, easier."
"Easier," he says slowly, and then laughs, the sound hollow. "That's definitely the right word."
There's a knife stuck in her chest. "James, I—"
"No, it's alright, Evans, I get it." He shakes his head, as if clearing away some thought, wayward and clumsy. "You've been very clear since the beginning about what you wanted, or about what you didn't want, I should say. And that kiss—last night—" His breath vibrates softly. "I shouldn't have initiated it, knowing all of that already. It's not fair of me to hold you to any of it now."
Everything he's saying, it's what she's been trying to convince herself of all day. But now… the words just sound harsh, undesirable to her ears. "It's not your fault."
Hazel eyes turn sharp. "Then whose is it?"
"I—I don't know."
"Did you want me to kiss you last night, Lily?"
Her heart rate hasn't slowed since the moment he'd entered; now it spikes impossibly higher, pulses on her tongue. "What?"
James moves closer. Dangerous. "You heard me."
"I should go." And before she can give herself the time or space to be weak, to not follow through, Lily pushes off from the table and makes to move past him. But as she nears where he stands, a hand reaches out to wrap around her upper arm; gentle; unassuming; a hold she can easily break if she wants. She should want that. She wants to want that. "James, please."
He blinks, once, looks straight at her. "Did you want me to kiss you last night?"
Air expands in her lungs, frustration coats her mouth, helplessness furrows over her brows, and then—
"Fucking hell, of course, I did!" She rounds on him, hand shoving angrily at his shoulder so he'll face her properly. "If it wasn't evident enough from the way I kissed you back, then here, let me spell it out for you, Potter: I wanted you to kiss me. I've always wanted you to kiss me. I still want you to kiss me. But I shouldn't. I really fucking shouldn't, and you know what I think? I think you already know all of this. You've known it since the beginning, and you haven't made it easy for me; hovering around, flirting, being sweet and genuine and just a great fucking bloke, and I want to bloody strangle you for it, because I don't do this—I'm not like this! I don't just go around falling for guests, and maybe that might be normal for you, but—"
"Normal?" James scoffs, cutting across her rant bitterly and loudly enough that she stops speaking, face flushed and burning red. "You think any of this is normal to me? You think what I feel for you is normal? Evans, I've been so bloody careful around you, all this time, because I didn't want to scare you away. I didn't want you to feel guilty, or obligated, or whatever the fuck else because I… I've been—fuck's sake, I care too much about you!"
He's glaring at her.
He's mad, angry, furious even, at her, for the first time since she's met him.
It's not a joke. It's not a moment they can brush past without fixing.
All of these things: facts. All of these things: she knows. And therefore, considering the logic and knowledge that she possesses, what Lily does next makes less than no sense to her. It doesn't now; it won't even years later.
"Fine," she snaps gruffly, and then, to both of their complete shock, leans up, cups the back of his neck roughly, and drags his mouth down to hers.
Her lips slant over his in a long stroke, and despite the dual gasps of surprise that ring out, neither of them halts or slows the aggressive pace she sets from the get-go. James immediately wraps an arm around her waist and brings her flush against his front, prying her mouth open so that his tongue can warmly slide over hers and send heat pooling into her knickers. The kiss is angry, much angrier than the one they'd shared last night. But ridiculously enough, it affects her perhaps even more now. Lily whimpers into him, eyebrows tensed, tries to break away with a quiet protest. "We—we shouldn't—"
James pulls back.
"Okay," he huffs, nose still brushing hers, eyes dark gold.
And then she kisses him again.
His groan is immediate this time, movements matching hers as she presses impossibly close, tugs lips with teeth, tangles tongue with tongue, breathes air that's not just her own. As if possessed by an urge to complete what they'd begun yesterday, her fingers slip directly to the hem of his shirt, start popping open buttons one by one until James has to break away from her to pull the garment off his shoulders and onto the floor. The separation, momentary, stupid, painful, winds up paying off when she greedily runs fingertips, then palms, over every inch of warm skin revealed. Her chest heaves, hard, and though she knows she shouldn't—is way past the threshold of shouldn't—Lily gently guides him back until his calves hit the foot of the bed, until he's seated, there, on the mattress; until she's seated, there, astride him.
"Lily," he breathes into her neck, lips against her pulse, tongue pressing softly over it. When he pulls back, the emotion she spots in his eyes steals oxygen from her lungs. It's too much. She feels too much.
The only solution: not to linger.
Her mouth finds his again; kisses deep, firm, long enough that all her mind can focus on is the intoxicating, half-drugged sensations being invoked inside. Physical is bearable; emotional is a whole other story. She doesn't know if James agrees with the sentiment—but he certainly doesn't seem to mind too much.
His palm slides up, almost tormentingly slow, to cup her breast over her shirt, and Lily moans lightly at the touch, lips turning sloppy over his when he circles a thumb there, lazily, teasingly. Still, she fears to open her eyes, to look at him; to lose herself entirely. "Fuck," the curse falls, threaded in frustration, desperation, confusion. Longing that could crack her open. "Fuck, James."
"I want you," he says, a swallow bobbing down his throat when her eyes open at the words. Hazels; sincere. And she's lost. "I want you so fucking bad it's bloody fucking killing me—"
"Please," she sighs, not knowing what she's pleading for.
His head ducks, strands of thick hair slipping like silk between her fingers, to mumble the question against her sternum. "Will you stay?"
Oh, God.
"James…"
The breath he draws in at the tone of her voice is heavy, long, sadness-laden, and something splinters in her chest when he doesn't make a move to prevent her from sliding off his lap, from taking an aching step away from him. He looks up, eyes bleak like he already knows.
Lily fixes her shirt, throat clogging and claustrophobic. "I… I have to go—"
He nods, lips pressed tight, and stands up himself, movements stiff. Unwittingly, her eyes travel down, cheeks heating in a flash at the sight of what she'd felt brushing against her thigh earlier. "Okay," James says, and she bites the inside of her cheek at the hoarseness of his voice. "What about—what about this, then?"
"I…" Self-loathing stirs. "I don't know."
And here, the light in his eyes flickers, hardens, become inscrutable. "You confuse me."
"I'm—" Lily presses fingertips into her eyelids, exhales through her mouth. "I'm so sorry. This isn't fair to you."
"No shit."
"James—"
"You kissed me now, Lily." She pulls her hands away to find him looking back at her, expression pulled into misery more than anger. A sluice of agony runs down her veins. "You did. Willingly. You said all of those things, you know what I feel now, and yet—"
"I know." She nods, fury at herself twisting up her throat until a tear spills down her cheek. "I know, I'm… will you give me some time, please? To think things over? I just need…"
She trails off, throat constricting as more wetness trails down her face silently.
"This shouldn't be so hard, you know," he says, voice quiet. "You shouldn't have to torture yourself like this."
A humourless scoff. "Trust me, if I had the option—"
"Okay."
"What?" Lily swipes at her eyes to see him better, to try and read the expression accompanying that strange tone. His acquiescence here is confusing. "What are you—?"
"I know you tried this before and I didn't let you, because I thought… but—" James clenches his jaw, sighs heavily. Whatever he's about to say, it's certainly nothing she's expecting. "But anyway, I'll do it now, Evans. I'll stay away, I won't bother you, I won't speak to you unless necessary, and—"
"James," Lily sobs softly, insides collapsing. "You don't—"
"This is for me, too, Lily!" He turns away, tension roiling through shoulders, still bare. "It makes me feel like a fucking prick to see you so upset and crying because of me. I want you too much, I've already said that. But I've been selfish, and… it's alright, really. I'll leave in a few days anyway, and then we can put this behind us."
Something stutters in her chest. "Be—behind us?"
"Don't sound like that," his voice comes out pained, fingers bunching into fists at his sides. "Please. I—I don't know what you want from me."
What she wants?
To date him outside of all this mess, she thinks.
To be able to cherish all of that warmth and energy and that good fucking heart in a way that he deserves.
But honesty sits stubbornly on her tongue; refuses to spill out.
Instead, she says, "I'm sorry."
James glances at her over his shoulder, eyes slightly damp. "I know."
And though the sight of that crumbles her completely, Lily bites back a helpless sound, picks up whatever pieces of her are left, and walks out of the room.
A/N - Happy thoughts. It's okay. All shall be fixed ❤