Cup of Coffee

CUP OF COFFEE

You tell me you don't love me

Over a cup of coffee

And I just have to walk away

A million miles between us

Planets crashing to dust

I just let it fade away

The blond walked into the kitchen of his small apartment and sat at the table. His dark-haired lover moved away from the bench, placed a cup of coffee in front of the blond, and sat opposite him.

Green eyes met grey above the steaming aromatic liquid.

"You know how reluctant I was to start this relationship. You know I told you I was a bad idea and that we shouldn't really get involved because it would never work." The tone was ominous.

The other man felt his heart sinking, but managed to hide it. He nodded.

"Well, I can feel this is not working. I'm sorry, I've tried but I can't keep this up. I need something more, something different. And I think I've found it."

The other man looked away, for fear his true emotions would be revealed.

"Are you all right?

A nod.

"We can still be friends, can't we?"

He shook his head.

"I'd better go." The dark-haired man stood and left the room.

The blond sighed and watched him go.

I'm walking empty streets hoping we might meet

I see your car parked on the road

The light on at your window

I know for sure that you're home

But I just have to pass on by

He walked through the London streets. He'd been doing that a lot more often since they had broken up. It didn't really help him to escape from the loneliness or stop him from dwelling on it, but it was better than sitting at home alone all night where there were constant reminders.

He found himself walking through a familiar area, walking past a familiar jeep and looked up to see lights on in a familiar apartment.

For a moment he considered going up. Should he go up there? Should he just go and say hello?

But no, he wouldn't. If he went up there he knew he would never want to leave. He knew he would do something that would embarrass him by making himself look desperate. He still could not accept that the other man was no longer his.

So he just kept walking.

So of course we can't be friends

Not while I'm still this obsessed

I guess I always knew the score

This is how our story ends

The next day he ran into his old lover at lunch.

"Hi. How are you going? I haven't seen you for ages."

"I'm all right." For a moment he dared to hope that the other man had realised his mistake. He dared to hope that the other man realised that they were meant to be together. He dared to hope that the other man was going to ask him to come back to him.

But this hope was crushed when a tall, chestnut-haired man walked up and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist.

"This is Brian. You should come around to our place for a drink sometime."

His heart plummeted.

"No. I'm sorry, I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't." He turned and walked away.

I smoke your brand of cigarettes

And pray that you might give me a call

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

Hang around at bars all night

Wishing I had never been born

And give myself to anyone who wants to take me home.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and flopped onto his back, sprawled across the bed. He never really did like smoking, but his lover used to smoke this brand and he found the familiar smell comforting.

He stared up at the ceiling and sighed. He felt so painfully alone.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the phone on his bedside table, willing it to ring. He wanted desperately to hear that familiar old voice admit it was all a mistake, and ask him to come back. He sighed in resignation. Deep down he knew it was never going to happen. He rolled of the bed and extinguished the cigarette and got dressed. Maybe if he went clubbing he could distract himself for long enough that the pain would ease a little. At least that's what he kept telling himself, but so far it hadn't worked.

He sat at the bar all night drinking straight spirits, trying to become completely desensitised so the pain would go.

"Hello gorgeous. Can I buy you a drink?"

It wasn't the most original pick-up line, and as he turned to look, he noticed the speaker wasn't the most attractive of men either. He could do better, but what was the point? There was only one man he wanted anyway.

So no of course we can't be friends

Not while I still feel like this

I guess I always knew the score

This is where our story ends

He crawled out of bed and dragged himself off to work. He didn't really want to go, but there wasn't anything else for him, and he knew that if he stayed home he would only brood.

The constant clubbing and one-nighters were having an adverse effect on him. He was always late for work and his work was of a lesser quality. He'd already been warned several times that if he didn't improve then he might lose his job. He didn't care. He didn't even like his job any more.

This lifestyle was also affecting his health. But he didn't care. His passion for everything was gone. His passion for life was gone. He didn't care about anything any more.

You left behind some clothes

My belly somersaults when I pick them off the floor

My friends all say they're worried

I'm looking far too skinny

I've stopped returning all their calls

He cleaned out his closet and found some clothes which were obviously not his. His stomach flipped. Could his lover be convinced to come over and reclaim his clothes?

As he gathered the clothes together he realised it was futile. If the absence of these clothes hadn't been noticed by now, they weren't going to be wanted back.

The phone rang and he walked over and looked at the number on the display. He ignored the call. There was only one person he wanted to have call, and it wasn't him. He didn't take the call because he was tired of listening to him nag him. They said that they were all worried about him, and that they thought he was becoming depressed. They said that he was neglecting his health and he wasn't eating enough. What did they expect him to do? How could they expect him to eat when he was feeling this low?

Whenever his friends rang they would end up sing the same old worn-out tune, and so he'd eventually just stopped returning any of their calls.

And no of course we can't be friends

Not while I'm still this obsessed

I want to ask where I went wrong

But don't say anything at all.

He remembered back to that fateful morning. He'd risen and his lover had offered him a cup of coffee. He would never have accepted if he had known that he would lose his lover over this drink, he never would have accepted.

He'd been shocked. Draco had thought they had been in love, but apparently Harry hadn't felt the same way.

It took a cup of coffee

To prove that you don't love me.

~fin~