Basically everyone I know is sick and pitiful and exhausted right now. It's that time of the year--fall is coming, but first summer has to get a last few rainy, humid punches in. The pollen doesn't know if it's coming or going and there's more mold in the air than oxygen, it seems. Not a great time to live in the northeast, even though we have to
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He gets beer on his way home; Amy orders Chinese. They eat on the sofa, raucously mocking the terrible action film showing on Channel 5. He laughs and laughs at Amy's awful American accent as she impersonates the hero, whose solution to every crisis is apparently to take his shirt off.
"This plot makes absolutely no sense," he protests halfway through.
"I know, it's brilliant." She grins, stealing a prawn cracker from his plate.
So Saturday nights are great. But Sunday mornings are even better. Rory wakes up lazily around ten, his head fuzzy from the night before, but not unpleasantly so. Amy's still asleep next to him, mouth slack and her hair splayed out over all of her pillow and a good part of his. She still looks completely beautiful, which is probably unfair. Rory's not complaining.
He slips out of bed, finding his slippers and padding down to the kitchen. He picks up the paper, makes tea and toast, and brings it all back to bed, where Amy's finally stirring.
She stretches, making a happy sound. "Morning."
"Good morning," he says, walking over to kiss her and put a cup of tea on her bedside table.
She smiles at him as he gets back into bed then curls up against him, kissing his cheek.
"I plan on doing sod all today," she says. "How about you?"
He leans into her, resting his hand on her hip and closing his eyes and she tangles their legs together. "That sounds perfect."
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this is PERFECT.
(also: PRAWN CRACKERS!)
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EEEEEEEE. PLEASE WRITE ALL THE HAPPY POND STORIES, Y/Y?
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