Hello It's Late
You walk outside, and everything is so much brighter than where you were a few seconds before. You step carefully forward, knowing that you are squinting like an old woman but pretending that no one notices. You briefly contemplate the use of an eye patch, like those old pirates from the 1700s. Somehow the thought of pirates distracts you enough so you forget why you are outside, and where you happen to be going. Because thinking about that is unproductive and unnerving, and it is too early in the day to be on edge.
A bell jingles, and the air tightens around you as light is concentrated through dusty windows and holes in lace curtains. There are books everywhere, the kind of books that kids pass immediately in favor of more color and fun. Those kinds of books immediately catch your eye, and smell like stale bread and dry ink.
He is there, as he was yesterday and the day before. It is such an odd place, really, to hang out at this time of day, but it is far too early in the day to be judging other people's routines, especially if your track record isn't so shiny either.
He hasn't noticed you yet. He's still immersed in his book, some large, withering green tome full of symbols and wonder. You start to translate the rune on the spine in your head, but don't really care what it says. He'll always be the same no matter what book he happens to be reading.
"You're early," he says, turning a page and not looking up.
You shake your head. "I arrive precisely when I want to, not a minute before or a minute after. Besides, early is on time, and on time is - "
"Yes, yes," he says, irritation creeping into his voice. Your cheeks redden as you realize that you had attempted to lecture him.
He knows your defense mechanisms well.
"You don't have to be nervous. We are just going for coffee."
Yes, well coffee did make you nervous. Normally the coffee would have you practically shaking in your heels all day as you sorted through endless documents and translated runes from old texts to blank parchment.
The worst part was that it wouldn't be the actual coffee that would make you quiver like that.
"Relax. Let me get my things, and we'll leave."
You nod as he steps past you, and you realize that your hands are still covered in ink. You stare down at them in slight disgust, noting that they look almost moldy, before you realize that he is in front of you again, shouldering his bag and fastening a few buttons on his coat.
The walk is short; he chooses his meeting places well. One block, a slight left and you are there, stepping into a little cafe with a hand carved sign and a plump man smiling at his favorite customers.
"Good day, Rupert."
"Good day, Mr. Malfoy. Would you like coffees again today, sir?"
He is staring at you intently, trying to read your thoughts. His gaze doesn't break from your face as he says, "I think we'll take tea today. Thank you."
You barely register the familiar wooden seat under you, pulled out by an unlikely gentleman who is now sitting across from you, still staring with those eyes.
It was too early in the day to be studied so.
"I'm sure you are wondering what my intentions are."
"Yes."
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, actually."
"As a matter of fact, I do. I've made a list."
"Have you, now?" His good-humored smirk makes you blush again. "Let's have a look."
You pull a crumpled bit of parchment out of your robes, your foot already beginning to tap on the floor. Tap tap. He's reading it, his eyes scanning from each numbered list item to the next.
"Are you even pausing to formulate your answers?"
"I don't need to," he says, folding up the parchment and putting it in his own coat pocket. "I can answer all your questions thusly: in due time, you will know."
"You are unbelievable."
"So I've been told."
Tea appears, and Draco pours a cup for you. You half expect him to ask how may sugars you take, but he won't, because he knows that you don't like to add sugar if you can avoid it. As soon as he's finished you retrieve the cup and sip slowly.
Instead of filling his own cup, he watches you, like he has done so many times before. Why must he always watch you so? It had a way of making you uncomfortable.
Tap, tap, tap.
"Are you nervous?"
"No. Why would I be nervous.?"
He shrugs. "You seem nervous."
You can't remember how to put your mask on, how to protect yourself against this man. You are in too deep already, and you know this. He knows this. He's using it to his advantage and doesn't even have to tell you.
Tap tap tap.
"Are you sure you aren't nervous?"
Could he be any more infuriating? It was too early in the day to be such a prick. Your face clouds over slightly into the expression you know you wear when you are about to start lecturing.
And then, his hand.
"You aren't nervous, then."
His hand is on your leg under the table, keeping your heel from clicking on the floor. Your movements cease and you try not to think about his warm fingers around your thigh, the fact that this table has no tablecloth so anyone walking by would see what he was doing. You try not to care that his hands is inching up your skirt already, just under the hemline, and if he moved a few more clicks he'd reach the end of your stockings.
You try not to think about his smirk, his look of knowing that hasn't left your face since you've arrived.
If he looks at you, you melt away; if he doesn't look at you, you turn cold and frigid. You don't know which one will hurt more.
"Still not nervous?"
"I don't fancy a game of Chicken while I'm in public, Malfoy," you say chidingly, trying to sound confident but knowing that your eyes are too wide to pull that off.
His own eyes are still smiling. "I wasn't playing anything."
"That's likely," you retort, taking another sip of your tea to hide your excited breathing. His hand is gone, but your leg is still on fire. You cross one over the other to try to erase the memory of his touch from your skin. "Everything is a game to you, Malfoy."
"And I've picked a pretty dangerous one, haven't i?"
Yes, he has. You know this. You are high maintenance, though you try not to be; you are annoying, though you'd like to think you aren't. You are intelligent, ridiculously so, though this man continues to confound you. You are strong and stubborn, standing up for what is right at every possible turn…
Yet you are illogical.
Because surely, nothing about this is right. Nothing about sitting in a coffee shop with Draco Malfoy could be rationalized as a "good" idea. But there you were.
With him, rationality did not matter.
"What are you doing later?" you ask boldly, your legs uncrossing and your shoulders straightened forward.
Your eyes are expectant, and so are his. "I'm having dinner with you I believe."
You smile. It was too early in the day to be so afraid of him.
Author's note: I didn't even know you could use this tense and have it work. I'm still not sure that it does. Anyway.