"Did you know there are no words that rhyme with orange, purple, or silver?" Tristan asked as Rory made his makeshift bed on the floor of her room.
"Really? I'm sure there is," Rory argued. "I bet I can find some."
"Only you would see that simple statement-slash-quirky-fact as a challenge."
Tristan went into the bathroom to get changed into some sweatpants. He went over to the vanity and splashed some water on his face.
*Stay cool DuGrey. So what if you'll be sleeping mere inches away from her? So what? So what? I'll tell you so what! You said it yourself; Rory Gilmore will be sleeping mere inches away from me. Aah geez! I can't handle this. Stoopid teenage hormones. And to top it all off, I'm talking to myself again. I wonder if anyone else has this problem*
Meanwhile in Rory's bedroom
*Aah geez! He's going to be spending the night in my room. Good thing I vacuumed. Is there a proper etiquette on bedroom behaviour when you have a visitor sleeping in your room? Should I leave the door open? Should I wait until he's asleep before I allow myself to fall asleep? What if he needs to pee in the middle of the night? Maybe I should leave the lamp on. Why am I even nervous? He's just a chum. I have no feelings for him. Everything is completely platonic between us*
Rory managed to slip her nightdress over her head just before Tristan re-entered her room.
*Wow, he's looking mighty fine. There go all friendly intentions out the window. Out they go. I can see them flying out the window. Mmmm. He could give that Charlie fella on Dawson's Creek a run for his money*
*She looks like an angel. She's perfect. Well, don't just stand there at the doorway gaping at her. Say something, at least*
"Hey, have you ever watched that show, Daria? It's a cartoon," Tristan asked.
*What made me say that? I just admitted I watch cartoons. A very cool cartoon, nonetheless, but a cartoon all the same. Why isn't she saying anything?*
*Rory, stop staring at him. Answer him at least. Ahh! What was the question again? Oh yeah, I remember*
"I've seen it a couple of times," she managed to get out.
"Well, you know that friend of Quinns? The Asian one?"
"The one that talks really slow?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Don't you think that Louise sometimes sounds like her?"
"Oh yeah. You're right! That's funny," Rory acknowledged.
"Her never-ending, incessant whingeing . . ."
"That's tautology," Rory interrupted.
"Eh? Come again?" Tristan asked.
"Never mind. Pay attention in English."
"You bug me," Tristan said in mock disdain.
"You bug me," Rory returned.
"Then why do you hang around me?" Tristan challenged.
"You bug me in a good way. And you make me happy."
Tristan's heart rose. He could picture it hovering above Earth.
"What can I say, but I'm gifted?" Tristan said.
"With me," Rory added.
"Pardon?"
"With me. You're gifted with me."
"Well, I must be gifted if I can put up with you," Tristan joked.
Tristan closed the door and turned off the light. He slid under the blankets that covered the sofa cushions.
"Goodnight Ror," he called out.
Rory realised she was still standing in the middle of her room and quickly darted over to her bed and got in.
"'Night Tristan."
Five minutes later
Thud!
"Tris?"
"I rolled off the cushions," he explained as he made his way back onto his mattress. Rory giggled. "I swear, your floor must have a forty-five degree incline, or something."
"It's not the floor, it's the sofa cushions. They don't wear out evenly."
"No kidding."
Two minutes later
Thud!
"Tris?"
"Shuddup!"
"Fine, but I was just going to offer you a share in my bed."
"Yeah?"
"Get up here," she said, scooting over and holding up the covers for him.
"You sure?"
"Just keep your hands and all other body parts to yourself," she warned.
He slid in beside her, afraid to touch anything for fear he would be exiled from her bed.
"Your bed is lumpy," he commented.
"Lodge complaints in the morning," Rory mumbled.
After an hour of lying in bed, staring at the back of her head, Tristan presumed Rory to be safely asleep. He moved a little closer to her and cautiously draped his arm over her waist. He revelled in the closeness and breathed in all things Rory. Little did he know that Rory was very much awake and very much aware of Tristan's change in position. Not able to see his face, she couldn't tell whether he was awake or not and was therefore unable to determine whether his action was a conscious or unconscious one. Tristan held his breath as Rory snuggled closer to him. They both fell asleep with smiles on their faces.
And that was how Lorelai found them the next morning. She stood at the doorframe brandishing an egg flipper in her hand.
"Psst," she called out to them. No one stirred. She tried again. "Psst, hey! Hello?!"
She went over to the bed and swatted Tristan's butt with the flipper.
Tristan's eyes snapped open before he toppled backwards off the bed and onto Lorelai's feet.
"Hey, ouch!" Lorelai exclaimed, hitting him again. He quickly rolled off her feet.
Rory stirred from the loss of warmth.
"Tristan, what are doing on the floor again?" Rory asked. "And Mom, what are you doing with a cooking utensil in your hand? Don't tell me you were cooking."
"I was making pancakes," Lorelai said defensively. "I came in here to wake you two up, and what do I find? Pepe le Pew in the same bed as my daughter."
"Hey, I object to that reference," Tristan spoke up.
"Pipe down, Pepe. Rory, what's going on?"
"Nothing. We need new sofa cushions," Rory answered. "Level ones."
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Mom, nothing happened. Trust me." Considering the case closed, Rory sniffed the air. "Is something burning?"
"Aah, shoot!" Lorelai exited the room, flipper in tow.
"Morning Mary," Tristan greeted, getting up off the floor.
"Morning Pepe. Sleep well?"
"Very well," he smirked. "Nice hair."
Rory felt the entangled mess upon her head.
"Back at ya. And I thought you always slaved over your hair in the morning to get it like that," she retorted.
"Guys, get dressed," Lorelai yelled from the kitchen. "We're going to Luke's for breakfast."
Later that afternoon
Tristan, Rory and Lane were sitting on Rory's bed braiding each other's hair. Well, Tristan was braiding Rory's hair. Rory in turn was braiding Lane's hair. Lane was painting Tristan's toenails.
"Tris, I'm a little worried," Rory spoke up. "You know how to braid hair and you're not complaining about getting a pedicure. Something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"
"I'm just of the opinion that Marilyn Red is a very good shade on me. That's all." He peeked out from behind Rory's head to admire Lane's handiwork.
"Not bad, but how do I get this stuff off?"
"You don't," Lane teased. "Eventually it'll wear away. Give it a month."
"Are you kidding?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"Hey, let's go get a video," Rory suggested jumping off the bed.
"Ouch, hair!" Lane piped up.
"Oh, sorry." Rory let go of Lane's hair.
Lane checked her watch.
"I have time to help you pick out a movie, but then I gotta go."
"Church?" Rory asked.
"Yep."
"Favourite ice cream flavour?" Rory asked, as they walked down the main street of Stars Hollow.
"Mango," Lane replied instantly.
"Strawberry," Tristan said.
Rory and Lane gave him a look of disgust.
"What?" Tristan asked defensively.
"Strawberry is nobodies favourite," Rory pointed out gently.
"And I'm nobody. I thought we already had this conversation." (AN: Refer to a previous chapter. Which one? I dunno.) "What's yours?"
"Cookie dough," Rory said. "Hey, I'm going to pick up some coffee from Luke's. I'll meet you guys at the video store. Oh, and Lane? Don't let him pick any movies starring anything bigger than a C cup," Rory instructed.
"Got it," said Lane giving her the thumbs up.
"Favourite colour?" Tristan continued, when Rory left.
"Orange. You?"
"Blue. Your question."
"Okay, best feeling in the world?" Lane asked as they entered the video store.
"Being in love."
"Good answer. Hey, that was a good answer."
"Do you always say things twice?"
"No."
"What's your best feeling in the world?" Tristan asked her.
"I was going to say sneezing. Not your generic brand, spontaneous, all-of-a-sudden-out-of-nowhere type sneezes mind you. I'm talking hard-core, builds-up-for-five-minutes, makes-you-walk-away-with-squeezed-eyes-like-you've-lost-your-glasses type sneeze. I like the anticipation, the suspense. You know that's coming and it gonna be a biggie when it finally happens. Pseudo sneezes suck though!"
"Pseudo sneezes?"
"Like the aforementioned sneeze, only no delivery."
"Good answer."
"Thank you," Lane said. "So, do you like Rory?"
AN: It's the best I can do for a cliffhanger. Not that it's much of one since I'm posting the next chapter at the same time as this one. Hmmm, maybe I should delay the release of the next chapter. Muahahahaha! Nah, I'm not that mean. Enjoy!
OWPNN: Hehe, you're silly. I like your poem. Stoopid FDA. Let's kung fuey their asses!
Special thanks to reviewers snow, Len, and Kou Shun'u
Oh yeah, disclaimer: I own nothing but the story line. Everything else belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino.