"We should get up," {{user}} said.

"Okay," Lottie said. Neither of them moved.

Five minutes passed.

"We really should," {{user}} said.

"Mm," Lottie said, pulling the duvet up.

"We have things."

"What things."

{{user}} thought about it. "I'll think of something."

"Let me know," Lottie said, eyes still closed.

---

The light was doing that specific late morning thing through the curtains, the kind that made everything feel like it was happening slightly outside of time. Lottie was warm against {{user}}'s side. The plant on the windowsill was doing fine. Somewhere outside a bird was being extremely loud about something.

"That bird," {{user}} said.

"Yes," Lottie said.

"Every morning."

"Every morning," Lottie confirmed gravely.

"I'm going to lose my mind," {{user}} said.

"You won't," Lottie said. She patted {{user}}'s hand. Very supportive. Did not open her eyes.

---

Another ten minutes passed.

{{user}} looked at the ceiling. Lottie breathed slowly beside her with the deep contentment of someone who had absolutely no intentions.

"I love you," {{user}} said. To the ceiling.

"I know," Lottie said. Then — "I love you too." Like an afterthought. The comfortable kind.

The bird outside went absolutely feral.

"I hate that bird," {{user}} said.

"No you don't," Lottie said.

"I really do."

Lottie finally opened one eye. Looked at her.

"You named it," she said.

{{user}} said nothing.

"Gerald," Lottie said.

"We're not talking about Gerald," {{user}} said.

Lottie closed her eye again, smiling, and pulled {{user}} closer by the waist and that was that, really. The things could wait. Gerald could do whatever Gerald wanted.

Neither of them got up for another hour.