It's become something of a ritual; Weetzie drops off two steaming beakers of Starbucks' finest outside her door each morning, and somewhere between C117 and C118 Jo builds herself up to believing today will be the day she does something other than leave the cup and scarper like she's some highschooler with a crush leaving notes in a guy's locker. It never is, though.
She's fully aware exactly how ridiculous the situation is, because even if she wanted to (which she doesn't, it would be weird, they're just friends... barely even that, just acquaintances with mutual interests and similar occupations) nothing could ever happen because of were they are and what the doctors say about them. So there should be a safety in that, a reassuring security blanket which makes sharing a cup of coffee completely innocent.
Today's the 13th day. She's been counting. Unlucky for some, maybe. Whether it's bad or good for her remains to be seen because today is apparently the day her feet decide not to co-operate and instead of pressing her ear to the wood back in her own room she's stood awkwardly in the doorway, a tiny blonde with sleep-mussed hair in grey trackies and TG's 'normal people make good pets' t-shirt, as Dean answers her knock.
"Um..." - she holds out his coffee, smiling self-consciously - "Hey. Coffee?"