His eyebrow twitched at the tickly huff of breath over his chest, and his nose wrinkled a little in response to the deeply suspicious notion that he was waking up. Nigel did not want to wake up, because if Nigel woke up, that would mean it was morning, and if it was morning, it would be the day that Nigel had to say goodbye to Emma. He told that twitchy eyebrow to shut it and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Nigel was a light sleeper, and someone was talking. He could not stay asleep when someone was talking. The talking must have been coming from Emma, because he was pretty sure he would have paid more at the pet shop if the cats were a speaking variety. Well, they were talky in a way, but it was more chirping than forming actual words. He kind of wondered if they chirped to attract birds… no, no, no. He was thinking way too much. This sort of thing would lead to waking up and morning and no Emma. Of course, this would be a lot easier if Emma would stop talking to him. If he pretended to be asleep, maybe she would stop.

“I’m going to miss you so much, Nige.”

Wait… what? This seemed to be a conversation that was more appropriate for waking-time… and a different couple. Bed talk tended to be a lot dirtier, and phrases like ‘miss you’ were not bandied about unless a great deal of drink was involved, and probably not even then. Was he dreaming? That was an interesting thought, but he doubted it based on the tiny cat paw currently kicking his liver. Much against his better judgment, the corner of one eyelid started to lift, and what filtered in through his dark eyelashes was depressingly light. The sunrise was coming fast, he could tell. His breath was still deep and even, and his limbs were in that numb state of heaviness where it would take way too much effort to move them, but he was almost definitely awake now. Nigel could see Emma’s hair, blonde and tousled from a night of rather passionate intimacy, resting against his chest and spread across his shoulder, almost tickling him, but not quite. That was normal and not worth opening his eyes for, so he let the eyelid slide closed.

“I know what happens next, I’ll be at school and you’ll be in France and you’ll forget. But…” 

Maybe Emma was sleep-talking. Or else she was crazy. Nigel definitely was; it would be impossible not to be with his heritage and history, and it would probably make sense that he would choose a mate of similar insanity. She was saying absolutely bizarre things. Anyone who knew Nigel knew that he did not forget things. Even when he wanted to, he didn’t; it might go out of his conscious mind for a while, but it was still there, deep, lurking, waiting for some passing fragment of sound or the hint of a smell to bring it slamming back. It would take more than a year on the Continent to banish Emma from his consciousness; it would probably take a sizable knock to the head and some extremely strong memory charms to do that. Nigel did not intend to get into a situation like that, so he was not worried about forgetting her. He was not worried about her forgetting him, either. He thought it was more likely that she would find someone who suited her better and was more convenient. After all, Nigel was quite a ways beneath her, league-wise, and he was heavily Muggle-based, and most importantly, he was two years older. Two years wasn’t that big of a deal, except that he knew Emma, and she did not like to wait. He would not be around at school to give her instant gratification, so he thought it was likely that she would find someone who could. Nigel didn’t have much faith in Emma’s attachment to him once it became inconvenient.

“I more than adore you… Sometimes…a lot of times, I think, I…”

It was fortunate that he did not suspect the sentiments she was thinking about expressing; he was expecting something along the lines of ‘I think I could chisel a nook in my lair of gold coins for you to sleep in when I’m not using you as my sex slave’. Though, if it came down to it, he imagined it’d be him doing the actual chiseling. Like Emma would do that… she might chip a nail or something. If he was following where her words were leading, he would have been definitely awake, and there would be a Nigel-shaped dent in the mattress and a hole in the door. Which he would probably end up having to pay for, but it would be worth it to escape those words. Nigel did not want to hear them; the last time he had heard them (other than from his mother, who did not count, because she only meant half of what she said and no one could be sure of which half) was the day his father had died. And then his father died. For him, the words were associated with lies and abandonment. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t have strong feelings of something towards Emma, but he wasn’t going around trying to put things in words. Things were so much better trapped inside and unspoken. Ignorance was bliss, and that was how Nigel remained for the moment. Well, bliss was taking it a bit far… as he was definitely waking up, and now he was cold.

He was making up his mind to force his sleepy limbs to move so that he could follow Emma wherever she rolled to, but he was not quite moving yet when she was back. Then he had to move, because she was wriggling on top of him and poking bony elbows and knees into places they shouldn’t be: i.e., his spleen and thighs. “Urnflph,” he groaned. He did not like to be woken up; usually he was the one doing the waking, and he was surprisingly grouchy when the tables were turned. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, as Nigel tended toward grouchy on an everyday basis, but it took time upon waking to achieve a polite disposition. Just… normally… he had plenty of time before anyone else encountered him. This was just not right. But… he made an effort to rein in his instinct to toss her to the floor and roll over and pull the covers over his head. Because it was Emma. And it was their last morning together, so while it was his instinct to ruin things, he would try not to ruin today. Plus, he was mostly awake anyway, some parts more than others, thanks to her wriggling and lip attention.

A sigh escaped him. Or maybe it was all the breath in his lungs, since she was squashing him (also, not right—he was the squasher, not the squashee), and he pried his eyes open a slit. “You taste like champagne and dead things,” he informed his girlfriend, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep. His arms rose to rest against her bare back, trailing his fingers up and down the expanse of skin as he squinted at her. “It’s barely the arse-crack of dawn, honey,” he complained. This was probably her vengeance for the whole summer, when he made her get up before noon and do things with him. “How long of a shag do you think this is going to be?” He was eighteen, so he could last longer than say, a sixteen year old, but he was still on the end of the spectrum where he had better recovery time than stamina. He was pretty sure he could not shag her continuously for the three to four hours before they had to be at the train station. While good in theory, he thought that would probably not be all that pleasant in practice… and probably involve chafing.

Nigel probably also tasted like dead things, so he groped for the bedside table and his wand. The breath freshening charm left his mouth super dry, so he had to run his tongue around his teeth a few times to work up some saliva before he was prepared to do any more kissing. And, of course, he offered Emma the same; he was an equal-opportunity charmer. That done, he felt much more able to tackle the morning, and he started by tackling Emma. Okay, not really, since he was pinned beneath her, but he did roll her over so that he was on top. “I’m not sure I should shag you,” he hedged, but his body was pretty much assuring her that he was going to, regardless of ‘should’. “I think I shagged you silly last night. Any more, and you might fail all your exams this year.” She might not see the downside of that, so he thought he’d point it out to her. “And then your sister would kill you. And then what would I do, honey?” asked Nigel, lifting her thigh over his bony hip. He was getting to the shagging, but he had one more thing to say before conversation dwindled to primitive noises. His minty breath wafted between their lips as he whispered, “You know I’m nothing without you.”