who ? daphne greengrass and roger davies when ? sunday afternoon, 27th november where ? roger's house what ? sundays status ? complete
Sundays were one of Roger's favourite days. They hadn't always been, but since he'd met Daphne, Sundays had quickly become days Roger thoroughly enjoyed. Him and Daphne spent a lot of their weekends together, but not always all of the weekends. Sundays, though, in their two months of knowing each other, they had, mostly, managed to spend together. They tended to be lazy days, which Roger found himself enjoying a lot. There was no rush in anything they did. Daphne, often, wrote. Roger, in turn, did paperwork for work, or sometimes read a book. All of it was usually mixed in together with breaks for sex, which was also just fantastic. Both as a structure for a day and the sex itself. Sundays were good days. Roger didn't question them, just accepting that he genuinely enjoyed the way their Sundays went.
Today was no different. Daphne had come over after breakfast, setting herself up at the dining table where Roger was more used to seeing her write than he was seeing the table empty. They'd had one sex break already, so Roger's next break was involving making some tea. As he stood by the kettle, waiting for it to boil, he glanced at the journal next to him, flipping it open absentmindedly. It wasn't really until he was half-way through the conversation between Daphne and Tracey that Roger realised it was Daphne's journal he was reading. The wards on the comments implied that they had not been meant to be read by anyone else but the two of them, yet Roger couldn't quite stop.
It was a strange conversation. It made Roger wonder what their other ones were like. He recalled the time Daphne had showed up at his house with a bottle of booze and a need to rant over something Tracey had said to her. That had been quite a while ago. From what Roger read, though, it didn't seem too dissimilar. "Daph," Roger called out, looking over at the table where she was sat. "I didn't intentionally read this," he said tapping against the journal. "But I read it nonetheless," there was hardly any point in pretending he hadn't. "Why are you friends with Tracey?" Roger asked blankly. It wasn't a question in any way motivated by jealousy, if only because there seemed very little to be jealous of.