summer

"Summer," Donna says.

"Why?" He asks, hands trailing over her shoulder into her hair.

It's one of those nights where they managed to get home early from the office and barely made it through the door before they were all over each other. They'd rolled around and grasped and moaned and gasped, then cuddled up together, eating shitty Thai takeout in bed and laughing.

Now, they were cuddled together, legs intertwined, facing each other talking about everything and nothing, they way you can only manage to do when you're in the presence of your forever.

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Donna said smiling, "I just remember that when I was a kid summers were my free time to just be, no school, no crazy parents, no obligations. I just got to come and go anywhere, so I guess summer is still my favorite," she finished, hand tracing the hair at the nape of his neck.

It's so funny, they've spent fifteen hours a day, seven feet from each other, for the last fourteen years and ever since things shifted, they both realized that they know everything and nothing about each other all at the same time.

So nights like this, when it's just them cuddled together naked, they find themselves asking each other random questions. Favorite color, favorite movie, favorite beverage. Anything and everything, it doesn't matter.

They want to know everything, because now that they finally have everything, with each other, the meaningless facts are suddenly worth their weight in gold, just as much as the pain of the past and the declarations of love.

"Best high school memory, go," she asks, tracing the moles above his eyebrow.