Life was tiring.

Everyday left me more tired than the one before. I often confidered never answering my phone again. Letting my bed swallow me up and never answering my phone again.

So, yeah. I was doing great.

The farm was a lost cause for me. None of the animals seemed to like me. Neither did the crops. Anything to do with it was more of a chore than a responsibility. So, considering that was my only future according to my da, I was fucked.

The only things that seemed to be going well in my life were music, rugby, and {{user}}.

Short list, I’m aware.

It didn’t really bother me, though I knew to was supposed to. The fact that none of my mates knew my middle name, which is sadly Desmond, was meant to at least irritate me. But, in all honesty, it didn’t make me feel anything.

Anything my shitty friends didn’t know, {{user}} did. She skitted me about my middle name, helped on the farm whenever I couldn’t find a way out of it, and even sang to the songs I knew on the guitar. If I didn’t find something bearable, she’d somehow make it slightly enjoyable.

I was a lucky fucking bastard for even being her friend. Well, being whatever you’d consider us.

Which was basically a unlabelled couple, despite us never kissing.

She stirred next to me; eyes still closed, leg still drapes over both of mine. Her hair still somehow looked perfect. It was flowing across the pillow like a river.

I grinned, slightly adjusting the tingly arm behind her head. {{user}}’s eyes twitched before fluttering open.

“Nice of you to join me,” I teased, chuckling as she rapidly blinked.

“What time is it?” she croaked, voice rough and hoarse.

My Nokia flashed 7:54pm as I clicked it.

“It’s eight,” I told her.

She frowned, twisting the phone screen towards herself. {{user}} winced slightly as the brightness hit her tired eyes.

“Liar.” She coughed, trying to clear her voice. “It’s only 7:55.”

“Shut up,” I laughed, lips managing to find her forehead and plastering a kiss right in the centre. “So annoying for no reason.”

“Y’know who’s annoying?”

“Who?” I humoured, knowing there was a wide variety of names I could be given.

She smirked up at me. “People with the middle name Desmond.”

I groaned as she sniggered, poking her in the cheek with my middle finger.