Reality Is Stranger Than Fiction

The Run And Go (Twenty One Pilots)

You're not asleep for very long. When you finally resurface to consciousness, Ford is still there, his breathing even, the rise and fall of his chest lifting your head steadily. You carefully peer open your eyes, flinching at the sunlight. It was definitely morning.

He must've been dozing as he shifts his head down as you look up, the two of you meeting gazes.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice gruff with sleep as he squints without his glasses.

"Hey," you whisper back, sleep evident in your voice.

"Did you sleep?" he asks, gently running his hand through your hair as he yawns.

"Yeah. Thanks for... singing," you whisper, resting your head back down on his chest in hopes he didn't see the blush on your cheeks. Ford was pretty oblivious, and you were very grateful for it.

"I was merely returning the favour since you do it for me on occasion," he mumbles as you let out a small yawn.

"You didn't have to, I know how bad your nightmares can get. It's the least I can do," you assure him, looking him in the eyes as you say this to confirm your point.

He holds your gaze for a moment, opening his lips to speak when the door suddenly slams open. Both of you look to it quickly, shifting away and preparing to leap into action in case of an attack. A grinning Mabel in a knitted sweater stands in your doorway, an apron wrapped around her front.

"Grunkle Stan said to tell you that breakfast is ready!" she exclaims excitedly, grinning with naive child innocence as she looks between the two of you. You watch as her eyes sparkle for a brief moment, her grin widening.

Knowing what was going to be said next - kids always jumped to conclusions - you quickly cut in:
"Thank you, Mabel. We'll be down in a moment."

"Indeed," Ford confirms.

"Okay! Don't take too long!" she chirps, shutting the door loudly and running down the stairs.

With a sigh, you shuffle out of bed, picking through the dresser.

"There's definitely not enough clothes to last more than two days in here," you observe, pulling out a random t-shirt that reads "You read my t-shirt, that's enough social interaction for one day". You toss it to Ford with a grin.

"I can just wear my sweater," Ford offers as he examines the t-shirt and shakes his head.

You pull out another T-shirt, this time with a joke about calculating the speed of travel with the words "that's how I roll". It's a bit loose on you, but it's not too noticeable. You simply grab your pants from the laundry hamper as Ford tugs on his dirty sweater. You wince at how disgusting it is.

"I'm going into town to get better clothes," you state in a tone that Ford knows he can't budge you on.

He let's out a sigh and shakes his head with a smile.

"Remember, large, medium," he says, gesturing to the articles of clothing.

"You say this like I haven't accidentally put your pants on and found myself swimming in them," you remind him, causing him to chuckle, lightening the air around the two of you and drawing a smile to your face.

"I was just reminding you in case you'd repressed the memories."

"What? Forget how you looked trying to struggle into my pants? Never," you state with a devilish grin on your lips as he shakes his head, tugging on his coat.

"It was one time, and I didn't look that ridiculous," he grumbles, fidgeting with his sleeves as you join in at the door.

"No, you're right. It was beyond ridiculous. I wish I could've gotten a picture of it," you snicker, patting his shoulder as you reach for the door handle.