NOTES: Hiya y'all! This was a fun chapter ;) very sweet. The spice, though, is coming up!

Next will be Lizzy's POV, this time was Darcy's.

I hope I'll be able to post again soon, but realistically it prbly won't be until tomorrow because I have a biology test to study for and I REALLY NEED AN A. So yea.

Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter tho, and stay safe out there y'all! love you guys 🌺~Vinny

"Hey, you want good news or baaaaaa… um…"

Darcy, who had stuck his head into the bedroom to inform his girlfriend that he was not, in fact, on the same level of cooking skills as Gordon Ramsey, but was distracted by the sight of her.

She was beautiful, obviously (she always was), but she was asleep in his bed. She looked so soft, so innocent, so.. so Lizzy, that he found it hard to concentrate.

And the fact that she had taken off her shirt didn't help either.

Lizzy, who he now saw was sweaty and slightly restless in her sleep, had apparently thrown off her old T-shirt (which did not, in any way, shape, or form look clean) and kicked off the covers. She was curled away from him, her arms stretched out over the wide expanse of sheets, and only Darcy's angle— not to mention gentlemanly upbringing— protected her modesty.

He leaned over to one side, just slightly.

Then he sucked in a breath, turned bright red, and spun to face the wall.

"Lizzy?" Darcy called over his shoulder, "Lizzy, can you please wake up for a sec?"

Behind him, there was a rustling of sheets and a sleepy grumble. But no verbal response. He tried again.

"Lizzy?" He asked, his voice straining with the effort of facing the wall. "Are you awake?"

"Mmmhbgmmh," she mumbled from behind him, smacking her lips, "Awake, 'm awake… Ugh."

Darcy, in a valiant attempt not to peek, kept his hand over his eyes but turned around slowly. "Lizzy," he said, attempting not to let his thoughts show through his voice, "C-can you please put on some clothes?"

He heard Lizzy yawn, and cough a few times. There was another shifting of bedcovers before she spoke. "Ummm well, you see, it's… really hot in here… or maybe I'm just overheated, you seem fine (if a little red), so… you know what, fuck it, just open your eyes."

Darcy obeyed, and went above and beyond her instructions— his eyes not only opened, but widened considerably.

She had not, as it so happened, put on a shirt.

"U-um," he said hoarsely, in a very ungentlemanly voice, "Wh.. wouldn't you be more comfortable.. I mean we… I…"

"Fitzwilliam. Look at me?"

Oh he was looking at her alright.

But he knew what she meant, and so he lifted his eyes to her face. Her hair was tangled, matted with sweat, and her nose was running. Her green eyes were tired, but amused.

"Fitzwilliam," she breathed, stretching luxuriously, "I am hot. I am tired. I think my fever's gotten worse and I can't deal with the texture of my shirt right now and I just really don't give a damn if you see me with my shirt off."

"Besides," Lizzy added with her usual gleam returning to those forest green eyes, "I like the way you look at me when I'm like this."

Darcy had to force his mouth to close. His head bobbed automatically. "Right. Righty-o. Okay. Cool."

Lizzy laughed, and used one of the excess throw pillows to cover her chest. "Is that better?"

"Yes." No.

Darcy sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to think about how the light reflected off her lightly tanned skin, making it seem like caramel waves rippling across her spine. He tried not to focus on the freckles that dashed her clavicle, or the birthmark she had just above her belly button.

He focused on her smile instead, and found it no less glorious.

"So…," her smile said, "Did you come in here for a particular reason or…?"

"Ohm, yes!" Darcy blinked, and tried to clear his mind. "I, uh, made chicken soup, but I... burned it by accident. But I- I do have sandwich stuff, and I wanted to check if that was okay and what kind you wanted."

Lizzy sighed, her smooth shoulders sinking deeply into the pillow as she relaxed. "That's so sweet of you, thanks," she smiled. "Do you have PB&J?"

Darcy cocked his head. "What?"

"PB.. and J? Y'know… Peanut butter and jelly?"

"Oh." He thought about it. "I.. have jelly."

Lizzy bit her lip, obviously trying not to laugh. "Just make whatever you would like, then double it. We'll have a feast!" Her gentle laughter was broken up by a rather violent yawn. "Tha.. that is…," she continued, unperturbed, "If I can stay awake."

"Okay, I.. I'll make us some.. ham and cheese? And lettuce?"

"Sounds great," she smiled, and reached up in a pleading gesture. Darcy complied, and kissed her slow. He wondered if she used a particular toothpaste, or if the taste of peach and mint was just ingrained in her gums.

Regardless, she tasted good, and Darcy was loath to pull away. He made sure to race to the kitchen (as soon as the bedroom door closed, so that she wouldn't judge him) and to dash just as fast back.

"Okay," he said, breathless. "Got the stuff." Then he choked on air.

Lizzy was lounging on the sheet, looking like a wet dream's role model, but instead of appreciating his lovesick/star-struck look, she just laughed and threw up her hands.

"Back already?!" She exclaimed, then winked. "And here I was trying to get rid of you."

Darcy couldn't even respond. He just grinned at her, stupidly. When he sat down, and she took one of the sandwiches, it occurred to him they would be eating in bed. With crumbs. In his sheets.

His eye twitched.

Then he breathed out, and shook his head. This was Lizzy. He wanted her to be welcome in his bed— always.

And especially when she was topless, Darcy reminded himself, his grin returning.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"Huh?" He asked, looking over at her.

Lizzy swallowed a large bite of sandwich that had puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, and grabbed a tissue to wipe her nose. "Well, uh, you just had this far-away grin on your face."

"Oh, I," Darcy stammered before calming himself quickly. He smiled. "Don't worry. I wasn't too far away."

He would have added, 'there's nowhere else I'd rather be,' but Lizzy had already returned to her sandwich, ravenously devouring the crusts. Darcy wasn't very hungry (he had had a half dozen energy bars on the frantic drive over to Lizzy's) so he contented himself with watching her eat. She had a cute way of chomping around the crust in a circle, turning the bread so that the whole motion ended up as a sort of spiral.

Then, afterwards, she coughed a few times, hacked up some phlegm (upon she made the truly awful joke "you might think this is gross, but 's not," whereupon Darcy forever shamed his family by laughing out loud), and then promptly fell back asleep.

Her head wasn't quite in his lap yet, but her hair was. Darcy wasn't brave enough to trail his fingers through it (it was beautiful, but kind of a rat's nest right then), so he just gently massaged her overheated scalp, enjoying the intimacy of it all.

It was true, what he almost-said-but-didn't. There really was no other place in the world he'd rather be.