Movie Mondays, Takeout Thursdays and Supper Saturdays were much easier, logistically speaking, now that they were living together.

It had been an adjustment at first. Fitz hadn't had a roommate since he'd finished his doctorate, and had furnished and organized his apartment without ever considering the possibility of sharing it with a woman one day. As much as he liked having Jemma in his space– their space– he wasn't used to making small talk over breakfast, or to his bathroom smelling of flowery products, and even less to maintaining a strict household chores schedule. Jemma, as he soon learned, was much fussier than he was. In the end, he had to retire some of his stuff to a storage facility, but only to make room for hers.

From the day he'd gotten her to stop storing gross things in the fridge, things had been running very smoothly indeed. As much as he had liked spending time at her place in the early stages of their relationship, making memories in his own was incredibly satisfying, now they were partners in every sense of the word. They'd even taken to finish each other's sentences, when they were not talking over each other in intricately knotted conversations no one else could ever hope to follow. They were, in both Daisy and Hunter's opinion, absolutely nauseating.

Incidentally, the timing for their moving in together had been perfect for everyone. Daisy and Lincoln had been considering a similar arrangement for some time, and the apartment she and Jemma used to share was much closer to the hospital where Lincoln worked than his old condo.

Now Mack and Elena were officially an item as well, everyone around them seemed to be revelling in unholy matrimony. Well, everyone except Hunter, who vehemently refused to even consider any kind of relationship that didn't start with a swipe– or lasted more than a few hours. Bobbi, for her part, pretended to be as unaffected as ever, but the way she looked at him when she thought she could get away with it wasn't lost on anyone but Hunter himself.

Sunday mornings were the best. Fitz and Jemma had taken to having brunch in bed– it had been a long negotiation, and he'd only won because Sunday also happened to be sheet-changing day. They would share a copious meal, the occasional mimosa and a movie or a show, while enjoying each other's proximity and near-nakedness– and whatever else might ensue. On one of those mornings, they were watching Amy Acker and Alexis Denisof be conned into a relationship by their family and friends– in luxurious Shakespearean language– when an idea popped into their head at the exact same time.

"Do you think–"

"What if–"

"–would work on–"

"–suspect something, but Hunter–"

"–definitely fall for it–"

"–must be discreet–"

"–would kill us –"

"–but if it works–"

"–yeah, if it works..."

"It's a plan, then," Jemma said decisively, linking their hands as they grinned at each other, delighting in their effortless complicity.

"If we can do this, then Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love gods," Fitz recited pompously, and Jemma burst into a fit of laughter so uproarious she almost knocked over her tray.

"It's amazing, though, isn't it?" she said, once she had recovered some composure and set aside their dishes. "How human relationships haven't changed all that much in over 400 years? And that what was funny then is still funny today?"

Fitz smirked. "Do you think 16th century you and 16th century me would be lying in bed, obnoxiously plotting to force our 16th century friends into the same kind of marital bliss we're enjoying ourselves?"

"Probably," she grinned, scooting closer so she could lie halfway on top of him. "I mean, we would have to get married first, of course–"

The words were barely out of her mouth that already, Jemma was blushing furiously and attempting to retract her untimely statement, while Fitz could only gape at her, wide-eyed, looking like he'd been taken completely off guard.

"Do you– are you–"

"I didn't mean–"

"–'cause I've been thinking about–"

"–really, please, forget I said–"

"–for a while now, a long while–"

"–that I'm forcing your hand–"

"–didn't think you were ready–"

"–can wait–"

"–can't wait–"

Silence fell abruptly upon them while they stared at each other, piecing scraps of sentences together, their mouths stretching into mirroring smile.

"Not like this, though," Fitz said softly, his fingers combing through her hair. "Let me ask you properly."

"Of course," she nodded, and craned her neck to pepper his jaw with kisses until she reached the place where it met his ear.

He looked up to her with a lopsided grin, earning himself another languid kiss at the corner of his lips. "I'm so glad you destroyed your poor laptop that one time," he said, his voice full of mirth and tenderness.

"Ugh, not the stupid laptop again," she huffed in mock reprimand, rolling her eyes, before she resumed her affectionate mapping of his face. "Will you be quiet, now? I'm trying to show you some pre-marital bliss."