Author's Notes: Well, I've finally done it — jumped on the drabble-series bandwagon. But really, these little babies needed somewhere to go and I just couldn't condone posting a million 500-word oneshots. So we have this instead. At first I thought I would be super noob and title it with some kind of song lyric, but my gag reflex kicked in and I decided to go back to my roots, the Every-Title-Is-Better-When-It-Is-Translated-Into-Latin! craze. So 'Farrago' madly enough translates into 'medley'. Whoah. I know. Deep, right?
This one was written in honor of Olivia, who had a bad day and deserved a bit of fluff to wake up to.
She slams her books down on the table next to him, loudly and without any regard for those studying diligently in the library around them. He doesn't jump, but his head jerks up at the sudden sound and he looks at her. She's staring at him with narrowed eyes as she drops herself into the seat next to him, but he refuses to give her what she wants no matter what look she throws his way. He lifts his chin defiantly and glares back.
"James," she hisses.
"I'm not apologising," he responds instantly, stubbornly. "And I'm not taking it back, either."
"Did I ask you to?" she demands, but James isn't stupid. He knows she hasn't been glaring at him for the past twenty-four hours for no reason. She's cross he did it, but he's not sorry, and he won't pretend that he is. He gives her a look that tells her so, and forces himself to stare back down at his textbook.
She lets out an annoyed huff.
"You attacked me," she accuses, sounding petulant. "You attacked me and then you just walked away as if it was all right!"
"Attacked you?" James scoffs, eyes snapping to her sharply. "Lily, I kissed you. I didn't come at you with a Beater's bat."
"For all your consideration, you might as well have done!" she cries, and jerks her head closer to his. Bits of hair have fallen out from the knot she had it pulled back into earlier in the day. The pieces frame her face, deep red and silky. James's fingers itch—they'd liked being weaved through that mane for those few precious seconds yesterday—but he knows better than to let them move now. At least, he hopes he does. Sometimes that's a problem of his, the knowing better and the doing it anyway. Especially with her. Got him into this whole damned dilemma in the first place, hadn't it?
James reminds himself not to think of it as a dilemma. It was a declaration. There is an important difference.
He leans in closer, until their faces are mere centimeters apart.
"If you keep crowding me like this," he says, "I'm going to start to think you want me to do it again."
Lily's eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn't move. James doesn't either.
"That was a serious threat," he warns her. "I'm not kidding. I'll do it."
He thinks this will get her to react, if only to shoot him a sour glare and a nasty remark. He'll take that. He's expecting it, if he's being honest. He'd expected it last night, as well, which is why he'd walked away afterwards. He hadn't wanted to ruin the otherwise rather brilliant moment.
But instead of pulling a face or skinning him bare verbally, Lily does the one thing James honestly had never expected her to. She leans in before he can and closes her mouth over his, quick but hard.
"If you don't ask me out by the end of the night," she threatens as she pulls away, already grabbing her books and rising from the library chair, "I'm going to find that Beater's bat you mentioned before and maim you with it."