barista au would be delightful
Delightful? Even if it’s four months late?
Installment #67
[Tumblr Links] [AO3]
The walk back to the dorm is carried out almost entirely in silence. Luckily, it’s only about five blocks. But Cosima feels some sort of rift forming between them, like the empty space will suddenly crack open and devour them both whole. Okay, maybe that was a bit melodramatic.
When they’re finally greeted by the darkness of an empty dorm room - the roommates must be out for the night - Cosima sinks down on the couch, tossing her glasses onto the coffee table. She doesn’t even know why. She just... wanted to do something.
She pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Sarah,” she begins. “I... I didn’t plan to say anything to Beth - I never actually did say anything to Beth. I swear to God, she’s like a mind-reader or something, I don’t know, but - “
Sarah kneels down in front of her. It’s such a bizarre, out of character movement that Cosima does a double-take, groping for her glasses that have slid just out of reach.
“I know you didn’t say anything,” she says, before Cosima can so much as open her mouth again. “Beth is...” Sarah shakes her head.
“Perceptive?” Cosima supplies absently, still distracted by Sarah’s closeness, the vulnerability of her position.
Sarah lets out a breathy chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
Neither one of them says anything. Cosima aches to close the distance, to make a move, do something. But she doesn’t. She just... waits. Maybe her subconscious is trying to prepare her for the shift from Sarah living her to Sarah being elsewhere. She can’t help questioning how easy this all has been. As if the universe must know that the two of them can’t be together.
Be together? Jesus, she’s starting to sound like a hopeless romantic.
Sarah’s the one who first makes contact. A hand on Cosima’s knee.
But Cosima’s the one who keeps talking, who says all the wrong things. “What does this mean for us?”
“What do you mean?” Sarah draws back her hand.
“You living there, I mean.”
Sarah shrugs, looking off towards the window. Then she seems to consciously draw her stare back to Cosima. “Just means you’ll have to come over.” The hand is back.
It’s too gentle a touch for Sarah; it’s just wrong. Cosima stands up. Sarah rocks back on her heels but doesn’t stand.
“I’m gonna go to bed,” Cosima says from the doorway to her bedroom.
“That’s it, then?” Sarah asks, not even glancing over. She’s probably staring at the hole Julia accidentally burned into the rug a month ago.
“You’re the one crouched on the floor.”
Cosima hears the chuckle. But she doesn’t hear Sarah’s boots on the floor as the distance between them shrinks to nothing. By then, all she hears is her heart pounding in her ears. Anticipation.
She wonders absently why she’s always the one being pushed up against doors and walls and bookshelves. When such a big part of her wants to push back.
