New Fic - Coffee (Draco, implied H/D)
Mar. 17th, 2006 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wook77Title: Coffee
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77
Rating: PG
Characters: Draco, Pansy, Goyle (implications of H/D)
Wordcount: 2197
Warnings: Angst
Excerpt in lieu of a summary: The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't even like coffee and he was unsure of how it even ended up in front of him. But, there it was, steaming hot and in his pure white mug. Considering that he was the only one in the flat, he was the one that had to have prepared the coffee. The process and the actions, though, were not in his memory.
A/N: Thanks toanael and wildegirl_05 for the hand holding and beta jobs. Also, this song was inspired by "I just can't get over you" by Colin Hays off the Garden State soundtrack. It works fairly well to have that song on loop when reading. Finally - this is also for the AWDT prompt of "you don't need clothes for this".
The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't even like coffee and he was unsure of how it even ended up in front of him. But, there it was, steaming hot and in his pure white mug. Considering that he was the only one in the flat, he was the one that had to have prepared the coffee. The process and the actions, though, were not in his memory.
His memory was getting worse, he decided. His observational skills had dropped to below sub-standard. He was going to end up getting himself killed one of these days.
That last thought made him bark with laughter before sobering enough to take a sip. It still tasted as bitter as he remembered but at least it was warm. That was more than he could say for either the flat or himself. He'd forgotten to light a fire or turn up the heat. The chill in the air, though, was nothing compared to the chill that permeated his body.
Shaking off his morose thoughts, Draco stood up, rinsed out the cup before resting it in the drainer next to the sink and then made his way to the bedroom. When he got there, he stripped off the ratty flannel pajyama pants. Absentmindedly scratching his balls with one hand, Draco grabbed for the pair of cotton pants that rested, folded in precise squares, on top of the rest of his laundry piled up on a chair in the corner of his room.
The pants were soon followed by a pair of denim jeans, a little too wide in the hip and a little too short in the leg. A t-shirt then followed those jeans, its imprint worn away by the years and constant wearing, was pulled on by rote. As he left the bedroom, he slid his feet into the first pair of shoes that matched.
His path took him through the narrow hallway, empty nails still stuck in the walls, before he went through the main room. His eyes didn't look at the dust build-up on the coffee table, the empty spots on the walls where the white paint looked a little fresher than the rest of the walls or at the holes in the bookshelves. Instead, he focused on the door, casually reaching out a hand to swipe his keys as he passed, his steps never breaking their rhythm.
The door clicked softly behind him.
~~**~~
His day passed quickly and if one were to ask him what he did, he would have stared blankly at you in response. He wouldn't have been able to tell anyone that he sat on a park bench, the third one in on the right along the second path from the first entrance into the park. This was the bench he sat at every day, after the cup of coffee he never remembered making until the sun set. He never saw the people walk past, had no memory of the birds that twittered next to him and possessed even less recollection of his thoughts.
When the sun started to drop below the buildings that towered over him, Draco would stand up and give one last glance at the bench before walking back to his flat. The door always opened with the fourth key on the ring, the one with the rubber band around it, and it would always close with a soft click. He would walk back past the bookshelves with their blank spaces, the walls with their varying whiteness and avoid the nails sticking out. He would kick off his shoes haphazardly, peel off the t-shirt, dropp the jeans and leave them where they lay, pull off his pants and tug the flannel pyjama bottoms back up his hips.
His path in the evening always took him through the hallway and back into the kitchen. He would fry some eggs. On his good days, he would have a slice or two of toast that was cut precisely into triangles along with the eggs. When Pansy would make her rare visits, Draco would be forced to eat curry or some other takeaway.
Fried egg in front of him with no toast apparent, Draco stared blankly down at the food. He briefly made note of the crack in the Formica finish on the cheap card table before he grabbed his fork. The bite of egg went into his mouth where he chewed it fifteen times of equal pressure before swallowing. The process repeated until the egg was gone and he walked over to the sink where he would rinse the plate and fork and then place it in the draining rack.
That completed, Draco made his way back to the bedroom where he lay on top of the blankets and slept.
~~**~~
His days were monotony. Every day he did the same routine, traced the exact same steps and didn't think of things that were better left in the past.
If there were days that he wished he could speak to that past, he ignored the thoughts. He was happy with the way his life was.
~~**~~
He was sitting with Pansy for her bi-weekly visit. The flannel pajymas were loose around his hips while his ribs jutted out in stark contrast. The conversation had died, like it always did, after the initial pleasantries. Draco wasn't sure if he liked her visits or not. She always stared at him with those sad eyes. She also kept him from his visit to the park.
Two cups of coffee steamed on the table, one across from the other, as Pansy stared at Draco and Draco stared at the coffee. The silence wasn't comfortable but it wasn't uncomfortable either. It just was as it dragged along.
"Harry." With that one word, Pansy shattered the rhythm and routine, the calmness and the imposed serenity. The table started shaking as the coffee burbled over the sides before the mugs, one a stark white and the other a deep midnight blue, shattered. Hot liquid sprayed everywhere, hitting Pansy on the face and dotting her pink pantsuit.
Draco's gaze never left the place where his white mug had sat as the plate on the draining rack shattered and the cabinet doors swung open and shut, banging loudly. Draco didn't see Pansy hurry around the table to stand next to him. He didn't feel her fingernails with their French manicure dig into his cheeks as she pulled his face to look at her.
"Harry." Abruptly the doors stopped their banging. The sudden silence enveloped the room as Draco stood, pulling his face out of Pansy's tight grip, and made his way through the empty hallway to the bedroom. He lay on top of the blankets. He didn't see Pansy following him until she stood in the doorway. He didn't see her hesitate before crossing the threshold. He didn't see her pick her way through the piles of clothing and shoes. He didn't see her standing in front of him as he blankly stared ahead. He didn't feel the bed dip as she sat on the edge. He didn't feel the soft glide of a hand through his hair and down his arm.
"You have to deal with it. It's been a year, Draco. A year of you not saying more than three words to me and living in this filth." Draco didn't react, even when Pansy once more gripped his face painfully tight, leaving crescent shaped marks on his cheeks with her nails.
"Harry." Draco's eyes finally looked out at Pansy. "Oh, Draco."
With a muffled cry, Draco thrust forward until his head was ensconced in Pansy's lap.
~~**~~
The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't even like coffee and he was unsure of how it even ended up in front of him. But, there it was, steaming hot and in his pure white mug. Considering that there were two other people in the house, either of them could have made it and placed it in front of him.
The sound of hammering filled the air while the smell of paint filled his nostrils. There was muted conversation coming from the main room. Draco ignored all of it as he stood and took his mug to the sink where he rinsed it out before placing it in the draining rack. He then threaded through the chaos in the hallway as Greg Goyle pulled the nails that stuck out, their pictures gone.
When he reached the bedroom, he pushed down the flannel pajamas, his left thumb getting caught in a small hole. He grabbed a pair of pants, folded precisely in squares, and pulled them on before grabbing a pair jeans that were a little too wide in the hips and a little too short in the legs. The worn t-shirt was next and then Draco slipped on a pair of shoes as he left the bedroom.
He avoided Greg once more before entering the main room, his eyes not seeing Pansy painting the walls nor the rearranged bookshelves, their holes hidden by strategic arrangements. Without saying a word, Draco snagged his keys and left the flat.
The door closed with a soft click behind him.
~~**~~
His day passed quickly and if one were to ask him what he did, he would have stared blankly at you in response. He wouldn't have been able to tell anyone that he sat on a park bench, the third one in on the right along the second path from the first entrance into the park. This was the bench he sat at, every day, until the sun went down.
"I'm wearing your shirt, you know." The words came out conversationally and the bird sitting next to Draco twittered.
"Pansy says I need to get something new to wear. I don't know what she means. You don't need clothes for this." The bird twittered again.
"She doesn't understand but I forgive her for that. She doesn't understand." Draco didn't look either left or right. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his hands folded calmly in his lap.
When the sun had set, Draco stood and made his way back to his flat. He didn't notice Pansy and Greg sitting on the sofa as he walked through the main room before pulling the t-shirt over his head, shucking the jeans and the pants before pulling on the flannel pajama bottoms.
He didn't hear their muted conversation as he went to bed without dinner.
~~**~~
The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't grimace as he took careful sips out of the pure white mug even though the bitter taste wasn't to his liking. After he finished it, he stood and rinsed out the cup before placing it into the draining rack.
From there, he went to the bedroom where he slipped off the flannel pajama bottoms, his fingers catching in a hole at the hip. He crossed the room to the dresser where he pulled out a pair of pants, folded precisely into squares. After they skimmed up his legs, he pulled on the gray trousers followed by a blue cowl-necked sweater. Without pausing as he left the bedroom, he stepped into a pair of shoes.
His path took him along the hallway where the nails had disappeared and into the main room with its matching white walls. He didn't pause to look at the dustless surfaces or the bookcases with their contents artfully arranged. Instead, his steps didn't falter when he reached out to swipe his keys.
The door closed with a soft click behind him.
~~**~~
His day passed quickly and if one were to ask him what he did, he would have stared blankly at you in response. He wouldn't have been able to tell you that the sight of a couple sitting at his park bench had shattered him. He wouldn't have been able to tell you that he finally broke down and cried, crouched down with his hands over his head and rocking back and forth. He wouldn't have been able to tell you that his mewls sounded like a wounded animal and that he found himself unable to stand and find another park bench because that was his park bench. It was their park bench.
The sun set as Draco continued to rock and cry, his legs locked in position by their cramps. Pansy's hand was soft on his hair as she pulled first one hand and then another from his head. Draco didn't pause in his rocking as she knelt and took him into her arms. Instead, she rocked with him, soothing murmuring nonsensical words coming out her mouth.
His mewls and cries slowed before stopping. Pansy pulled him to his feet and Draco followed blindly. When they entered the flat, they went past the main room, through the hallway and into the bedroom. By rote, Draco shucked the t-shirt, the jeans and the pants before pulling on the flannel pajamas.
~~**~~
The tea was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly.
Author:
wook77Rating: PG
Characters: Draco, Pansy, Goyle (implications of H/D)
Wordcount: 2197
Warnings: Angst
Excerpt in lieu of a summary: The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't even like coffee and he was unsure of how it even ended up in front of him. But, there it was, steaming hot and in his pure white mug. Considering that he was the only one in the flat, he was the one that had to have prepared the coffee. The process and the actions, though, were not in his memory.
A/N: Thanks to
anael and wildegirl_05 for the hand holding and beta jobs. Also, this song was inspired by "I just can't get over you" by Colin Hays off the Garden State soundtrack. It works fairly well to have that song on loop when reading. Finally - this is also for the AWDT prompt of "you don't need clothes for this".The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't even like coffee and he was unsure of how it even ended up in front of him. But, there it was, steaming hot and in his pure white mug. Considering that he was the only one in the flat, he was the one that had to have prepared the coffee. The process and the actions, though, were not in his memory.
His memory was getting worse, he decided. His observational skills had dropped to below sub-standard. He was going to end up getting himself killed one of these days.
That last thought made him bark with laughter before sobering enough to take a sip. It still tasted as bitter as he remembered but at least it was warm. That was more than he could say for either the flat or himself. He'd forgotten to light a fire or turn up the heat. The chill in the air, though, was nothing compared to the chill that permeated his body.
Shaking off his morose thoughts, Draco stood up, rinsed out the cup before resting it in the drainer next to the sink and then made his way to the bedroom. When he got there, he stripped off the ratty flannel pajyama pants. Absentmindedly scratching his balls with one hand, Draco grabbed for the pair of cotton pants that rested, folded in precise squares, on top of the rest of his laundry piled up on a chair in the corner of his room.
The pants were soon followed by a pair of denim jeans, a little too wide in the hip and a little too short in the leg. A t-shirt then followed those jeans, its imprint worn away by the years and constant wearing, was pulled on by rote. As he left the bedroom, he slid his feet into the first pair of shoes that matched.
His path took him through the narrow hallway, empty nails still stuck in the walls, before he went through the main room. His eyes didn't look at the dust build-up on the coffee table, the empty spots on the walls where the white paint looked a little fresher than the rest of the walls or at the holes in the bookshelves. Instead, he focused on the door, casually reaching out a hand to swipe his keys as he passed, his steps never breaking their rhythm.
The door clicked softly behind him.
~~**~~
His day passed quickly and if one were to ask him what he did, he would have stared blankly at you in response. He wouldn't have been able to tell anyone that he sat on a park bench, the third one in on the right along the second path from the first entrance into the park. This was the bench he sat at every day, after the cup of coffee he never remembered making until the sun set. He never saw the people walk past, had no memory of the birds that twittered next to him and possessed even less recollection of his thoughts.
When the sun started to drop below the buildings that towered over him, Draco would stand up and give one last glance at the bench before walking back to his flat. The door always opened with the fourth key on the ring, the one with the rubber band around it, and it would always close with a soft click. He would walk back past the bookshelves with their blank spaces, the walls with their varying whiteness and avoid the nails sticking out. He would kick off his shoes haphazardly, peel off the t-shirt, dropp the jeans and leave them where they lay, pull off his pants and tug the flannel pyjama bottoms back up his hips.
His path in the evening always took him through the hallway and back into the kitchen. He would fry some eggs. On his good days, he would have a slice or two of toast that was cut precisely into triangles along with the eggs. When Pansy would make her rare visits, Draco would be forced to eat curry or some other takeaway.
Fried egg in front of him with no toast apparent, Draco stared blankly down at the food. He briefly made note of the crack in the Formica finish on the cheap card table before he grabbed his fork. The bite of egg went into his mouth where he chewed it fifteen times of equal pressure before swallowing. The process repeated until the egg was gone and he walked over to the sink where he would rinse the plate and fork and then place it in the draining rack.
That completed, Draco made his way back to the bedroom where he lay on top of the blankets and slept.
~~**~~
His days were monotony. Every day he did the same routine, traced the exact same steps and didn't think of things that were better left in the past.
If there were days that he wished he could speak to that past, he ignored the thoughts. He was happy with the way his life was.
~~**~~
He was sitting with Pansy for her bi-weekly visit. The flannel pajymas were loose around his hips while his ribs jutted out in stark contrast. The conversation had died, like it always did, after the initial pleasantries. Draco wasn't sure if he liked her visits or not. She always stared at him with those sad eyes. She also kept him from his visit to the park.
Two cups of coffee steamed on the table, one across from the other, as Pansy stared at Draco and Draco stared at the coffee. The silence wasn't comfortable but it wasn't uncomfortable either. It just was as it dragged along.
"Harry." With that one word, Pansy shattered the rhythm and routine, the calmness and the imposed serenity. The table started shaking as the coffee burbled over the sides before the mugs, one a stark white and the other a deep midnight blue, shattered. Hot liquid sprayed everywhere, hitting Pansy on the face and dotting her pink pantsuit.
Draco's gaze never left the place where his white mug had sat as the plate on the draining rack shattered and the cabinet doors swung open and shut, banging loudly. Draco didn't see Pansy hurry around the table to stand next to him. He didn't feel her fingernails with their French manicure dig into his cheeks as she pulled his face to look at her.
"Harry." Abruptly the doors stopped their banging. The sudden silence enveloped the room as Draco stood, pulling his face out of Pansy's tight grip, and made his way through the empty hallway to the bedroom. He lay on top of the blankets. He didn't see Pansy following him until she stood in the doorway. He didn't see her hesitate before crossing the threshold. He didn't see her pick her way through the piles of clothing and shoes. He didn't see her standing in front of him as he blankly stared ahead. He didn't feel the bed dip as she sat on the edge. He didn't feel the soft glide of a hand through his hair and down his arm.
"You have to deal with it. It's been a year, Draco. A year of you not saying more than three words to me and living in this filth." Draco didn't react, even when Pansy once more gripped his face painfully tight, leaving crescent shaped marks on his cheeks with her nails.
"Harry." Draco's eyes finally looked out at Pansy. "Oh, Draco."
With a muffled cry, Draco thrust forward until his head was ensconced in Pansy's lap.
~~**~~
The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't even like coffee and he was unsure of how it even ended up in front of him. But, there it was, steaming hot and in his pure white mug. Considering that there were two other people in the house, either of them could have made it and placed it in front of him.
The sound of hammering filled the air while the smell of paint filled his nostrils. There was muted conversation coming from the main room. Draco ignored all of it as he stood and took his mug to the sink where he rinsed it out before placing it in the draining rack. He then threaded through the chaos in the hallway as Greg Goyle pulled the nails that stuck out, their pictures gone.
When he reached the bedroom, he pushed down the flannel pajamas, his left thumb getting caught in a small hole. He grabbed a pair of pants, folded precisely in squares, and pulled them on before grabbing a pair jeans that were a little too wide in the hips and a little too short in the legs. The worn t-shirt was next and then Draco slipped on a pair of shoes as he left the bedroom.
He avoided Greg once more before entering the main room, his eyes not seeing Pansy painting the walls nor the rearranged bookshelves, their holes hidden by strategic arrangements. Without saying a word, Draco snagged his keys and left the flat.
The door closed with a soft click behind him.
~~**~~
His day passed quickly and if one were to ask him what he did, he would have stared blankly at you in response. He wouldn't have been able to tell anyone that he sat on a park bench, the third one in on the right along the second path from the first entrance into the park. This was the bench he sat at, every day, until the sun went down.
"I'm wearing your shirt, you know." The words came out conversationally and the bird sitting next to Draco twittered.
"Pansy says I need to get something new to wear. I don't know what she means. You don't need clothes for this." The bird twittered again.
"She doesn't understand but I forgive her for that. She doesn't understand." Draco didn't look either left or right. Instead, he stared straight ahead, his hands folded calmly in his lap.
When the sun had set, Draco stood and made his way back to his flat. He didn't notice Pansy and Greg sitting on the sofa as he walked through the main room before pulling the t-shirt over his head, shucking the jeans and the pants before pulling on the flannel pajama bottoms.
He didn't hear their muted conversation as he went to bed without dinner.
~~**~~
The coffee was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly. He didn't grimace as he took careful sips out of the pure white mug even though the bitter taste wasn't to his liking. After he finished it, he stood and rinsed out the cup before placing it into the draining rack.
From there, he went to the bedroom where he slipped off the flannel pajama bottoms, his fingers catching in a hole at the hip. He crossed the room to the dresser where he pulled out a pair of pants, folded precisely into squares. After they skimmed up his legs, he pulled on the gray trousers followed by a blue cowl-necked sweater. Without pausing as he left the bedroom, he stepped into a pair of shoes.
His path took him along the hallway where the nails had disappeared and into the main room with its matching white walls. He didn't pause to look at the dustless surfaces or the bookcases with their contents artfully arranged. Instead, his steps didn't falter when he reached out to swipe his keys.
The door closed with a soft click behind him.
~~**~~
His day passed quickly and if one were to ask him what he did, he would have stared blankly at you in response. He wouldn't have been able to tell you that the sight of a couple sitting at his park bench had shattered him. He wouldn't have been able to tell you that he finally broke down and cried, crouched down with his hands over his head and rocking back and forth. He wouldn't have been able to tell you that his mewls sounded like a wounded animal and that he found himself unable to stand and find another park bench because that was his park bench. It was their park bench.
The sun set as Draco continued to rock and cry, his legs locked in position by their cramps. Pansy's hand was soft on his hair as she pulled first one hand and then another from his head. Draco didn't pause in his rocking as she knelt and took him into her arms. Instead, she rocked with him, soothing murmuring nonsensical words coming out her mouth.
His mewls and cries slowed before stopping. Pansy pulled him to his feet and Draco followed blindly. When they entered the flat, they went past the main room, through the hallway and into the bedroom. By rote, Draco shucked the t-shirt, the jeans and the pants before pulling on the flannel pajamas.
~~**~~
The tea was hot in his cup as Draco stared down at it blankly.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-19 12:20 am (UTC)It's the simplest things that can affect a person.
Anyway, I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for letting me know!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-19 08:41 am (UTC)"I'm wearing your shirt, you know."
I like how it's the first of only a few lines that Draco speaks in the whole piece, and that when he does speak, it is to Harry.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-19 04:08 pm (UTC)Thank you so much!
no subject
Date: 2006-04-05 07:30 pm (UTC)If you think the quote I selected is too spoilery or anything let me know and I'll replace it.
And if you're cool with it and want to pimp the site that would be great! I know almost everyone collects quotes, and I'd love to see the comm grow.
Cheers!