No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.

datemate telepathy over hash browns and writing-covered napkins

I wake up with arms around me, which I do not remember falling asleep to.

Not that I object, because I know it's Annabelle. From both her warm scent and how her body feels next to me. I just take stock of what time I presume it is (which is way too early) and how sore my eyes feel, I just snuggle back into her and fall asleep again.

I wake up for real a couple hours later, to the sight of Annabelle in sweatpants and a bra sitting criss-cross applesauce near my feet with her earbuds in.

I flop over onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. I feel a light tap on my foot, which tickles like heck. I squirm away. Possibly too quickly, as I fall off the bed, bringing the duvet with me in a blanket burrito like those burritos that fall apart the second you take them out of the foil.

"Ngh." I flop my limbs against the floor. Annabelle's cold foot presses against my bare back.

"We're going out on a breakfast date, Haze."

"Why?"

"I'm trying to be spontaneous and quirky, Hazel Ava. And I want hash browns. The place near the other place down that one street has really good hash browns."

"'The place near the other place down that one street'? Good description, sweetheart," I mumble into the comfy floor.

I hear her slide onto the bed, and I assume she's going to tickle me. It's not the first time she's used my vulnerable sides as leverage.

But no. Her hand grabs ahold of my foot and she just starts dragging me towards the door.

"No, Annabelle, I'm not even," I huff, trying to push myself up off the floor, "wearing a shirt. And neither," I flop down, deciding it's useless, "are you."

"Eh," she shrugs, making the few curls that escaped her sleeping bun bounce around. I look at them fondly, then remember that I'm supposed to be annoyed at my girlfriend and try to frown at her.

She heads over to my closet and brings out two random shirts. One's one of Jenna's muscle tees and one's an old, worn Black Veil Brides concert shirt.

She tosses me the muscle tee, which I slip on after I pick myself up. I look down at myself. Purple pajama pants with white stars and a too-big Broods shirt. I shrug, deciding it doesn't really matter, and slip on Jenna's pair of flip-flops.

This weekend is the last I'll be spending up here, then I'll be going back to my parents'. I don't know what Annabelle'll be doing.

Jenna's already starting to move her stuff out. To be honest, I'll probably spend most of the summer with her and her dads. They're more my family than my actual family is.

Hopefully Annabelle will be within reasonable distance of some sort of transportation.

I just run my fingers through my hair in a poor attempt to brush it, then take a hair tie off my wrist and tie it off in some sort of ponytail-bun. My fingers find the now familiar spot of skin where I know Our hometown's in the dark reads, black against my skin.

One thing I like about my relationship with Annabelle is we don't feel the need to talk all the time. Just touching her is enough for me.

So we take opposite sides of a booth and I intertwine our soft, fabric-covered legs underneath the table. True to her word, Annabelle orders three plates of hash browns, and we both get coffee.

We go on our respective phones and each eventually pull out earbuds. I occasionally look up. Annabelle's got a black phone with a clear case, and she always keeps a Polaroid in the case. The one in there now is the first one she posted on her blog.

I feel nostalgic and happy at the same time. 

I never thought the two were so different.

The waiter comes up with three plates expertly balanced on one arm and two mugs in hand — seriously, how do they do that? — and places it all in front of us.

I smile and thank him, and Annabelle pushes one mug and one plate toward me. "Seriously. Best hash browns you'll ever eat."

It's heaping with crispy potatoes. Annabelle pulls the two remaining plates in front of her and picks up a fork, still scrolling through her phone. Her legs remain comfortably nestled next to mine.

I start another Gamingmas video (I've been rewatching them all lately) and slide down a bit in the seat, sipping my coffee.

Annabelle's right. About the hash browns.

About halfway through their play of Katamari, I get an idea for a story.

I take my phone from where I propped it against the sugar container and pause the video, and take a napkin from the stack.

I don't have a pen. Annabelle probably does, though, so I snap my fingers under her nose and mime a pen when she looks at me confusedly.

It takes a few tries, but eventually our datemate telepathy kicks in and she widens her eyes, signaling to me that she understands. She digs around in her pockets for a second, then throws a pen across the table at me.

Then I start my writing playlist and click the pen. Annabelle takes her eyes off whatever she's reading and watches the ideas spill out.

I like to make lists. Especially when writing. They help organize my thoughts and ideas. So here I write down my plans for specific things that will happen, as well as plan out an OC on another napkin.

Annabelle's got an amused look on her face as she sees me gradually collecting napkins as I come up with more and more ideas, and smirks even more when the waiter comes back to refill our coffees, very clearly judging me and my napkin collection. Right now, though, I'm in my pajamas and I haven't washed my hair. I could care less about what other people think of me.

Once I've formulated some sort of relatively cohesive idea, I push them all across the slick plastic of the table into my datemate's chest. She picks one up and tries to read it, and minutes later gives me this look, with her heavy eyebrows furrowed adorably. I'm tempted to make more things confusing for her, because damn is she cute when she's bewildered like this.

Once I explain things to her, like what I think the plot's going to be, she motions for me to give her her pen back. I oblige, and she takes one more sip of her coffee before starting to add things to the napkins.

From that day on, the little diner on the corner has become our writing place.

No one in there ever expects to see us in anything other than our pajamas. It's nice, to have an escape.

a/n: Thanks so much to That_Quirky_Girl for making this! It's so adorable!!! ahh!!!

To you and everyone who does anything to interact with this story (literally anything) y'all have no idea how much it means to me i literally smile like crazy when someone votes or comments

you guys are the best *hug*

also how would y'all feel about a phan fangirl au? would anyone read it?