She brings him coffee that first morning after, slipping back into his bedroom wearing one of his t-shirts, cradling the mug in both hands.
“I want to do for you what you do for me. I want to be for you what you are for me.”
He smiles as he accepts the offering, then lifts an eyebrow at the sight of coffee grounds floating on top of the brown liquid. Her hands are stained too.
She bites her lip. “But you’re going to need a new coffee-machine. Sorry.”
He can’t complain when it means her skin tastes of coffee too.