DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. These are fictional characters created by someone who isn't me, but used in an even more far-fetched situations to satisfy my own sick ends.

He woke up to feel a strange weightlessness. When last he had semi-consciousness, Rory had been using him as a pillow, lying almost diagonally in the bed with most of her torso on his chest. He remembered thinking something about heaven before letting his eyes close and falling back into the haze of sleep. He heard water pounding against porcelain, and turned to face the half closed bathroom door. He watched as her outline moved to push open the shower curtain and step carefully into the shower. A smile crept over his face, before he yawned leisurely and stretched his body. The truth of his current location washed over him. He was lying in Rory Gilmore's bed. He woke up in Rory Gilmore's bed. If someone told him a month ago that this would happen, he would have called them crazy.

The night before was unlike all their other encounters. It wasn't a coincidence that they were together; there was no other pretense for them to be together, other than his calling and asking her out on a proper date. He'd called her up and actually asked her to go on a date with him. He'd sat at his desk behind his closed door while the entire office thought he was on an hour long conference call with clients upstate, working up the nerve to call this woman up and ask her out on their first official date. Though they'd seen each other almost every night this week, it had still been under the safety net of 'hanging out'. Nothing was really official, other than the fact that seeing her made him just want to see her more.

And so he pulled a few strings and got them into the Rainbow Room, and then they took a walk around Central Park, before going back to her house for dessert. All she had that might have qualified as dessert was coffee and some chocolate syrup, which was laughed off and forgotten as he cupped her face in his hands and leaned across the refrigerator door to kiss her. He couldn't ever remember a time when he'd ever been nervous on a date, or a date that he felt went too quickly. Usually he suffered through the dinner portion to get to the back to her place part. Followed by the slipping out as soon as she was asleep part. The most amazing aspect of his evening was the moment around 3am where she was drifting away into slumber and he moved to let her be comfortable in her own bed—and she reached out a lethargic hand on his chest to prevent him from moving. Then the slurred, drowsy words came flowing from her mouth, 'stay with me.' He was truly in heaven, or what his would be if it existed. He held her as she fell asleep and he had no desire to be anywhere but in her bed.

Now this beautiful creature was naked in the shower just feet from him. Had they had sex, he could join her, but they weren't moving as fast as he normally would. She wasn't the kind you fuck and run from. She's the kind you wait for the right moment for. Granted, he did hope the right moment would arrive quickly, but for now he was more than content. Instead he sat up and took the book off her nightstand and began to flip through it.

Her phone began to ring, and a smile spread over his face remembering the last time she failed to answer her phone in his presence. He still wanted to ask her exactly what she'd told Lorelai about him. He figured she couldn't hear the phone in the shower, and made his way over to answer it.

"Hello?"

Silence met him, though someone was definitely still on the line. There was no dial tone, and he could swear he heard someone breathing on the other end.

"Hello?" he tried again, more emphatically.

"Uh, perhaps I have the wrong number," came a voice on the other end.

"What number were you trying to reach?"

"555-9389," came the voice.

"That's the correct number. Can I help you?" Tristan asked, not understanding the trouble the caller seemed to be having.

"Uh, is Rory there?"

"She's in the shower. Can I take a message?" Tristan asked, starting to feel weird about this. He had no idea what had possessed him to answer her phone, but he was definitely sorry he had.

"Yeah, just tell her Daniel called. She has my number," he said quickly, sounding desperate to get off the line.

"Right," Tristan said before hanging up the line. He placed the phone on the receiver and went back to sit on the bed. Moments later, he heard the water turn off, and the towel being pulled off the rack. He tried to erase the last minute from his memory, but found it impossible. When she emerged in a blue silk robe, with a soft smile on her face he almost did.

Almost.

She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, and pulled away noticing the perplexed look on his face.

"Morning," she whispered as if it were still early in the morning, in those hours before it's really light out and therefore only proper to speak in hushed tones. As it was, they'd slept past ten o'clock. He knew he still had to go into the office at some point, but work had been the furthest thing from his mind last night.

"Morning," he said before pausing for a beat. "You just missed a call."

"You answered my phone?" she asked, as if the scenario had never occurred to her. She didn't look upset, more like amused.

"Yeah—evidently I confused Daniel. He thought he had the wrong number."

"Daniel?" she asked, unsure as to why Daniel would call her back. She'd run out on him after Tristan the first time they met and she talked about Tristan the whole way home from their coffee date.

"Daniel, the guy you went out with last weekend?"

His tone was that of an adult speaking to a child with no attention span. Which evidently is enough to piss her off, he saw immediately.

"I know who Daniel is, Tristan, thank you," she said defensively. "I just wondered why he would call," she explained.

"Call him and find out," Tristan suggested, sounding rather bitter about the idea altogether.

"Seriously?" she tested him.

"Do whatever you want, I need to go to work," he said, standing up and pulling his pants up his legs.

"Tristan," she sighed. How this happened was unfathomable to her. Just ten minutes ago she was lying in bed, watching him sleep. She noticed how much stubble he grew overnight, how it was just long enough to be rough to the gentle touch of the pads of her fingers. She ran her fingers down his jaw line, as if making sure he were really there and kissed his forehead before sliding out of bed and taking a quick shower. She never heard the phone ring, but evidently the chance call of a man who obviously didn't know that when a girl spoke about another guy she was uninterested was where it went wrong. She could still salvage this. His pants were on, and he was actively looking for his shirt. All was not lost.

"Tristan," she stepped in front of him, putting her hand on his bare forearm to get him out of his shirt finding daze.

"I need my shirt, do you see my shirt?" he asked, stepping away from her and looking under some of her garments on the back of her armchair.

"Tristan, stop," she requested, causing him to turn and look at her.

"What?" he asked tersely, looking down into her eyes.

"Why are we fighting?"

He looked at her, hating the fact that he couldn't really tell her more than the fact that Daniel had called. Perhaps he was making a bigger deal out of this than it needed to be—but he still didn't like other guys coming around Rory. Especially nice guys that she had enjoyed talking to. And all he could be is the jealous non-boyfriend who can't even find his damn shirt.

"We aren't fighting. I just. . . need to go to work," he said with a sigh.

"Okay," she said, moving over to the floor in front of her closet to retrieve his shirt and tossing it to him. "There."

He looked at her for a beat, deciding whether or not to say something. He slipped it on quickly over his head and muttered a quick gratitude. He looked around the room and grabbed his watch off her nightstand and moved over to where she was standing, just watching him get ready to leave. She was a dichotomy at this moment—looking at once so beautiful and so sad. Still in her silk bathrobe—just the right color to make her eyes stand out and right now her wide blue eyes were all he could see. In a moment of clarity, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She was too fuddled with her thoughts to respond, she just continued to look at him. Or through him he wasn't sure which. He broke the contact and nodded.

With that, he was gone, leaving her standing in her bedroom as she heard her front door close quietly behind him.