The Heart Wants What It Wants: The Sequel

6

Another sleepless night, another dreary London day.  After showering, dressing, and packing her single rolling luggage, she made her way down the narrow hall to the front desk and heard not a single word the clerk said to her.  When the woman had finished and Hermione had mumbled a generic goodbye, she turned and started for the front door.

Out of the corner of her eye, a figure rose from a Queen Anne velvet chair and caught her gaze.  She stopped so suddenly that the bag hit her in the heel, and she winced and shifted her weight to the other foot.

"You okay?"

They were blocking a couple trying to exit, so she pretended it didn't hurt and continued towards the front doors.  Truthfully, it was nothing compared to the pain she'd endured over the last few hours, and most of it was self-inflicted.

"What are you doing here?" she asked as she pushed the heavy door open with her elbow and yanked the bag along behind her.

His hand took over and she turned to look at him as he wheeled it to a stop just aside from the curb.

She'd been pissed at James last night for his callous offer but the sight of him and the reminder of what all she'd put him through, and what he'd just gone through, softened her anger.

"I thought I'd drop off your bag."  He reached a hand out reflexively but pulled it back again.  "I also wanted to apologise for last night, and offer you a lift.  The Z is probably your best option near me."

The Z Hotel was a place that offered weekly rates, and it was only a couple of minutes from Old Street Station.  She'd already been considering it this morning, especially since it was within walking distance to James' shop.  It didn't matter that his apartment wasn't in walking distance from the Z because she felt quite certain that she wouldn't be going back there.

"I appreciate you bringing back my bag-"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it...about the morning after pill thing."

She nodded, unsure of what else to say.  He wasn't perfect, and yesterday had been awful.  

She followed him to the rental car from yesterday and got inside while he put her bag in the boot.  As he started for the other side of the city, they made some small talk for a little while before the quiet returned.  

When they reached the hotel, he got out with her and pulled her bag out, setting it down with a determined look.  

"You don't need me to take this in for you, do you?"

"Nah, I'm good," she smiled carefully.

He looked handsome today in his black jeans and faded Black Sabbath shirt.  His Docs weren't laced and his hair was loose.  Images of him fucking her yesterday on the spare bed at his mother's flickered through her mind, and he must have realised.

He smiled and glanced at the ground, feeling it too.  Whatever was between them now, whatever was left, the waters were murky.

"Alright, I won't keep you.  Come by the shop tomorrow night if you want.  I'll be there."

She frowned.  "Why are you working?  James, couldn't your clients be a little more understanding?"

"I could use a distraction instead of sitting in my place thinking."  He held the handle of her rolling luggage out and walked backwards as their eyes remained locked on one another.  "Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," she smiled weakly, trying not to be affected by his warm green eyes crinkling slightly at her.  

She hadn't seen that sight in a while, and it made it difficult to be objective right now.  She gave a small wave as he ducked inside the car and then started inside.  She shook her head and muttered under her breath as she headed for the front desk.

"I must be absolutely mental."

****

The call to Draco hadn't been easy.  She'd chosen to FaceTime him instead of texting or calling, hoping that it was a less-casual way of having such a serious talk.  She'd expected him to get upset, or to demand to know what room she was in to come straight over, but instead he seemed glad to hear from her and listened patiently.

If she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes, she would've never believed that he was as calm as he'd sounded. 

"I love you both," she'd confessed, just as she'd done with James the day before.  "And we slept together yesterday.  I can't say anymore than he can't make me...finish."

He'd inclined his head slightly, as if to confirm that he'd heard and understood her, and then asked if she was okay.  She'd assured him that she was, though it was all very puzzling.  It wasn't like him to not ask nosy questions about how good it was, or to ask for any inappropriate details of the encounter.  

He knew where she was staying but not her room number.  He knew what had happened and how she felt, but not what the future held.  He didn't ask for anything, other than inquiring whether they would continue to talk.

"Of course," she'd stressed.  "I just want to make sure I get it right this time."

They'd hung up without incident, and she'd tried not to think of both of them as she unpacked her bag.  It hadn't taken long, and soon she'd felt restless and bored - a sure-fire recipe for over-thinking.  She decided to go for a walk - a walk that would take her hours to finish.

By the time she'd returned to the hotel later that night, she was tired - mentally and physically.

She also slept better that night, though she'd woken earlier than she would've liked to.

That evening, after waiting as long as she could, she stopped by the shop.  John greeted her when she walked in, as though nothing had happened.  James had given a small smile before going back to his work.  He'd chatted with her between clients and she'd waited for him to get off work, hoping he'd want something to eat.  

But he'd looked and sounded tired, and had excused himself to try to get some rest.  She'd understood, though the first attempt hadn't gone the way she'd hoped.  He said to come by the next night if she wanted, so she'd taken that as a good sign.

But when the next evening had rolled around and she'd stopped by, his mood had been even cooler than the night before.  She'd questioned her sanity when she'd left, as it felt like they'd taken a huge step backward.

She'd not dropped by the next day, figuring some space might be what he needed. 

The following day, to her surprise, he texted and said she could come by if she wanted.  Bearing gifts of food, she dropped by and ate with them between clients.  There was a positive difference in James' demeanor from the last visit, but only slightly.  It was puzzling, frustrating, and she left feeling almost angry at him.

Later that evening as she struggled to fall asleep, she remembered that she'd contemplated getting a piece done from James, something to commemorate her parents.  Though it seemed positively mad to put a permanent piece of ink on her body in order to get his full attention for a proper conversation, the wheels had already begun turning in her mind.

She sent a text to James, the first since they'd broken up.  It was a photo of something quick she'd pulled up, though she knew he could do way better than the image she'd sent.  She would fall asleep with her phone on the bed, but his reply would never come.