PROMPT: "Stop texting me weird stuff late at night!"

His phone buzzing at 2:30 in the morning is not the way Eomer would prefer to be woken up. In fact, he'd like to not be woken up at all, seeing as how Derby season was only a few weeks away, and he'd need every second of sleep he could get between now and then to properly function.

Groaning, wondering if it was Eowyn, fretting about her impending wedding, or more likely, Theodred, complaining about one horse or another, he lifts his phone.

Did you know male penguins give females penguins pebbles to express interest in them?

Blinking at the unfamiliar number, and the even more perplexing text, Eomer can only stare at his phone in confusion. It must be the wrong number, he thinks, and sets his phone back down with a grumble.

A week later, he's forgotten the text entirely, too caught up in preparing Firefoot for the races to worry about a surely accidental message from a random number.

But then it happens again: slightly earlier, and on a Saturday night, when he and Aragorn have agreed to meet up for a beer.

Mated seahorse pairs travel around holding tails! Isn't that sweet?

"What the hell," he says.

Aragorn peeks over his shoulder and snorts at the text. "Interesting topic of discussion, Eomer."

"I didn't start this," he protests. "I don't even know who's sending these messages-"

He's not fast enough to stop his friend from snatching the phone from his hand and reading the other text about the damn penguins. The look on Aragorn's face after he's read it is horribly, terrifyingly smug. "I think," he says, smirking, "someone's got a crush on you, Eomer Eomundson."

Eomer rolls his eyes. "I think some kid has the wrong number."

"Why don't you answer and find out?" Aragorn prompts.

But Aragorn and Arwen-his wife of two years come summertime, not that either of them would let anyone forget it-are notorious matchmakers, and Eomer is not a fool.

"No," he says, tone final.

And he holds to it. At least, he does until he gets another message, three weeks later, after Firefoot makes it through semi-finals.

Bowerbirds construct fancy houses for females when they're courting. Maybe human men should take note?

Eomer mutters a curse, finally texting back in the hope that the person-prankster, kid, weird veterinarian, whoever-would finally leave him be.

Stop sending me weird stuff late at night!

The response is immediate, and weirdly enough, normal: Well, all you had to do was ask.

For some reason, that's almost more disarming than the texts themselves.

Then why do it in the first place?

Maybe it was my pebble. See if you were interested.

Belatedly, he realizes this person must know it's him they're texting, making him the only one in the dark. Against his better judgment, he finds himself saying: And if I was?

Meet me at Fangorn Coffee Company tomorrow morning. I'll be the one with the real pebble, this time.

Eomer hesitates-it could be anyone texting him. A nasty prank from one of his exes, a less-than-tasteful joke headed by Merry and Pippin, or truly a wrong number after all...but he agrees, anyways, blaming the insanity on the stress of the season, of the fact that Eowyn was about to be married and move thousands of miles away, for his lapse in judgement.

The next morning finds him wired off two cups of coffee, anxiously tapping his leg underneath the slightly ramshackle table. He doesn't recognize anyone-a good sign, and a bad one-and he's honestly debating leaving when there's the sudden appearance of a hand at the opposite corner of the table. In said hand is a moderately-sized pebble.

"I didn't think you'd come," comes a familiar voice, warm with amusement.

He looks up to find Lothiriel-Faramir's cousin Lothiriel, who he hasn't seen since she left two years before to do a stint with some endangered species protection agency-smiling down at him. She's always been pretty-not that he'd have admitted it before now, because she was Faramir's cousin and younger than Eowyn to boot-but she looks nothing short of beautiful now, her hair longer than ever, her figure more filled out, a smattering of-frankly-adorable freckles across the bridge of her nose. Abruptly, he's reminded of that one, ill-timed kiss at her graduation party that they'd both agreed never to discuss again.

Apparently, they hadn't been in as much agreement as he'd thought.

He's strangely happy about that.

"Well," he says, reaching out to pluck the pebble from her hand, "I wasn't about to be outdone by a bunch of animals."

Lothiriel's smile is worth every hour of missed sleep.

(She doesn't stop texting him weird things late at night, even when they're married.

Did you know lions can have sex for up to 20 hours straight?

Just lions? ;)

Oh, I think we could give them a run for their money ;) )