As promised. :)
Fiyero was as flush as possible on the surface of his writing desk, desperately absorbing the coolness from the wood into the pores of his face and the underside of his arms. He felt like hell. His head thoroughly throbbed, his stomach was somehow mid-flip, and everything was horribly, painfully loud and bright around him.
To think he spent years letting himself end up in his state.
He should have stayed home in bed, but it was Monday morning and even in his miserable state he couldn't imagine missing Dillamond's morning class, for Life Science was the only period he was guaranteed to see Elphaba without any distractions. Well, aside from the class itself, which was greatly distracting for her but certainly not for him.
The desk smelled like pencil lead. Curse pencils, curse writing, curse thinking. He hated all of it right now.
"Hello Fiyero."
"What's so good about it," he grumbled automatically; he frowned when he comprehended his non-sequitor and peeked up just enough through his strained eyelids to see Elphaba paused halfway through unloading her things staring with an eyebrow raised judgmentally at him. "Sorry."
"Are you sick?"
"No. Yes." He cringed, wishing he could burrow deeply into the desk each time the door burst open.
"Right." He buried his forehead into the crook of his elbow, comprehending that Elphaba had surely had enough of this nonsensical, monosyllabic conversation and giving up on it all together. But then he heard the gentle clap of something being placed on the surface of his desk; before he could lift his head to inquire of it, the strong scent of coffee met his nostrils.
"Ohhh," he intoned, lifting his eyes up to meet the side of the paper cup and to Elphaba, who was still standing next to her desk watching him with an incredulous eyebrow, her own much smaller brown cup clutched in her green hands. He practically embraced the cup with his arms, pulling its warmth and aroma as close to him as possible. "Please tell me this is real."
"If it isn't, I'll feel very cheated by the man from whom I purchased it."
"And it's for me?" he checked, lifting the lid to get a more robust inhalation of the life-saving brew. It smelled so strong that the whiff alone was enough to dampen his hangover symptoms.
"Clearly."
He smiled up to her. She looked beautiful this morning – as she did every morning in his biased opinion – but this morning she was actually paying attention to him, focused on him with those gorgeous eyes and that clever mouth quirked up in a way that sent his insides flipping around within him. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing, it's in payment for last week."
"Last week?"
"Yes, last week. You bought me tea and now I'm returning the favor."
"Your timing is impeccable."
"It seems you had fun last night."
"Fun is a strong word. I had alcohol last night—that's more accurate." He risked a sip and, sure enough, the witch must have imbued soothing, restorative magic into the cup. "Ohh you don't know how much I love you right now."
He blanched and stiffened, realizing what he said, but the words were the vomit that he had spent the morning trying to suppress—an uncontrollable burst of something meant for more private, appropriate circumstances. Fortunately for him Elphaba just rolled her eyes at his theatrics and took her seat in front of him.
"So," he started, wishing to recover. "Now I owe you a cup."
She twisted in her seat to glare sternly at him. "That's not how it goes, Fiyero. This was repayment. The debt is cleared."
"That's not true. You've just given me something and that needs recompense. So next Monday I'll bring you a tea and then I'll be square with you."
"But then you'll have brought me two drinks and I'll only have given you one. I'll owe you again."
"Sounds good to me."
"So in my effort to be done with this matter I've incited an eternal return of coffee and tea?"
"Isn't that great?" he said with a dopey grin as class started.