1Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize.

A/N: The song is "Cup of Coffee" by Garbage. This was written out of boredom. And not the silly, I'm bored and need something to do, the real boredom where all you can do is sit around and stare at the wall making mental lists.

Italics: letters

Bold: flashbacks

Bold/Italics: lyrics

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

I smoke your brand of cigarettes

And pray that you might give me a call

I lay around in bed all day just staring at the walls

It had been three days, 22 hours, 41 minutes, and 50 seconds since she had written the letter, and still no reply from him. She sighed stubbornly and stomped her foot. She was being a sissy, she wasn't going to be like that; she wasn't that girl. She wasn't going to be the girl who sits around on a Friday night and whines and complains because her not-even-boyfriend hasn't called...or in her case written.

She had opted to paint her nails, which didn't work since Paris had decided it was Use-all-of-Rory's-nail-polish-because-you-have-to-meet-Doyle's-parents-and-then-change-it-every-five-seconds-because-you-can't-find-the-right-one night. She had also gone with the movie night approach, but Lorelai was out of town on a business trip, and it just wasn't the same when you're alone. She thought about going for a walk but it was pouring, and night was just around the corner.

She had long decided that Jess was not coming, that he didn't care, but there was nothing better to do. Maybe she could meet someone else; sure there were plenty of men at Yale, all she had to do was go out and find one. But it was raining on her world, and it was raining outside. And there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn't take back what she had written, no matter how hard she wanted to. She didn't want to have him initiate, she didn't want anything to happen.

The letter she had written was a mistake. A mistake that she knew she had to face. A fake letter, that meant nothing, that had no real feeling. That's what it was - fake. She had always been taught in school the six traits of writing, and voice being one of them, she had just automatically thrown it in there; that was why it sounded so passionate. But it wasn't her voice.

No matter how hard she convinced herself that she wanted him, that she had meant what she said, she knew she was wrong. She didn't need him in her life, she didn't need him. She didn't even want him. She didn't love him, and she couldn't fix that. He couldn't be her yo-yo anymore, she didn't even want him to be. He was sick of being it, she was sick of using it; and she knew this.

So there she was, staring at the wall, making pro and con lists of anything she could think of. Coffee, school in general, The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Coffee had the most pros; school the most cons. Suddenly a knock on the door pulled her out of her trance and she jumped up, eager for someone to talk to. When she opened the door, her breath hitched in her throat and a familiar nervous pounding in her head appeared.

He was standing there, drenched mercilessly on every inch of his body. Little droplets of water made plopping sounds as they fell of his soaking hair. His shoulders were hunched, like a little boy when he's afraid of the monsters in his closet, and there were two dark blotches on each one, where the water from his hair had fallen. He was wearing nothing less than jeans and a tee shirt.

"Jess." She breathed. He looked at her expressionlessly, waiting for her to invite him in. "Oh... yeah." She said simply, taking his coat as he walked in. Without another word, they sat down at the wooden table in the kitchen and she got them both a cup of coffee, which she hadn't thought of when she was alone.

They sat there silently, both hands wrapped around separate cups, staring each other in the eye. There was no challenge, no hidden message in their eyes, there was nothing. Not a speck of emotion; not even love. And for the first time in their relationship, whether they were kissing or fighting, it was simple, there was simply nothing between them.

It took a cup of coffee

To prove that you don't love me