No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.

are we growing up, or just going down? i'd say neither, just falling in love

Annabelle's up before me, which hasn't happened in a while. (Or ever, possibly.)

Our quilt's been wrapped tightly around me, and I almost don't want to get out of the bed. But then I roll over and realize that it's around eight.

Kind of late for me, and definitely early for Annabelle, who usually stumbles out around ten.

"I wanna go bowling."

This is what she mumbles to me as she crouches over the quickly budding snowdrops, taking photos with one of her many cameras.

She's only wearing a bralette and some shorts. It is warm in our apartment today. Annabelle's gone and opened all the windows, letting in the early morning sunlight that's the only reason I get up early. It's humid out, but not too hot, thankfully.

"Okay," I reply easily. Annabelle's the spontaneous planner, and this is not the first time she's suggested something random. It is Sunday, after all: my day off. (For Annabelle there's no schedule, as her blog is her job.) "Any reason you're up to catch the mornin' light, or just for the lighting?"

"That is most of the reason," she says, nodding her head. "Also I felt like you thought I was physically unable to awaken before nine in the morning, so just a little wake-up call to you that I can do it."

"Aw," I say, tracing my fingers up and down the showing skin on her back, "I knew you could do it, just thought you'd never want to. Have you had breakfast, love?"

"Nah."

"M'kay. What do you want?"

"Cinnamon rolls."

"Well how soon d'you want breakfast? 'Cause those take a while to make."

She shrugs, almost falling over in her position. "I'll wait. You're such a good baker, they'll be worth it."

It's my mother's recipe that I pull out. I've only made these once, and that was in high school. My mom helped me, but I'm sure I can do it on my own.

True to my own word, they take about two hours what with the mixing and kneading and rising and whatnot.

"You look like you knead a break."

I pull back from her hand, which rested itself on my forehead. "Was that a baking pun, Annabelle Lev-Damore?"

"Why yes, Hazel Ava, I believe it was."

"I wanna marry you."

"I mean, I feel like nothing would change; but I want to also."

"Cool."

For a first solo attempt, these cinnamon rolls are pretty okay.

Annabelle stuffs at least three-quarters of one in her mouth. I eat mine with a fork.

"Delectable," she praises, licking icing off her finger.

When she pads off to get dressed, I pull out my phone and dial my mother's number to tell her that the recipe worked. She's busy, but I leave a message and then join Annabelle in the bedroom.

Neither of us are any good at bowling, but that doesn't stop us from having a good time.

Annabelle's let her hair down, and it bounces and sticks up in little tufts. Her skin shines under the neon lights and her eyes shine under my gaze and touch.

I've been in relationships before, but not like this. Never like this.

I almost drop the ball on my foot three times. Annabelle spills her soda on her jacket. She gets a strike once (the only one of the game) and it's purely accidental.

"Maybe next time we should do something we're good at," I say to her as we drive home.

"I dunno; I thought it was fun anyway. It, though, would not be fun if I had to accompany you to the hospital for a broken foot, so be careful?" She looks at me imploringly.

I flash her a winning smile, and she snorts. "I'll try my best, sweetheart."

When we get home, I make hot chocolate and Annabelle takes a bath and I play Too Weird To Live, To Weird To Die! in the kitchen and dance around by myself.

It sometimes hits me that I am an adult. I paid taxes last week. I wake up and go to my job. I cook and go grocery shopping.

Despite all that, I'm dancing to Collar Full in the kitchen in fuzzy socks drinking hot chocolate.

Growing older, not growing up, I think as Annabelle spins me around. Her hair is still wet and I'm about to fall asleep on my feet, but The End of All Things is playing and nothing really matters right now except for Annabelle.

a/n: when it's a verbal pun, do i write need or knead? writing is hard