WHO: Verity & Fred WHAT: chatting, snuggling, who the hell knows WHERE: Fred's bed WHEN: The morning after the Order meeting WARNINGS/RATING/STATUS: None so far/PG13?/Ongoing
Verity yawned and rolled over in Fred's arms, surfacing slightly into consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open slightly and she furrowed her brows. She was in Fred's room, but didn't remember having gone to sleep there. She wriggled slightly and her frown deepened. And she was still wearing her jeans! What had happened last night?
Her movement woke her up more and sent a wave of nausea roiling through her body. She froze, pressing her lips together and clinging to Fred as it subsided and settled into a low level of stomachly unhappiness.
"Ugh," she murmured, dropping her head against Fred's chest, unwilling to move, lest her stomach rebel completely. Had they gotten drunk last night? That would explain the nausea, but her head didn't hurt and she certainly would've been wearing less clothes if that was the case.
Tickling her fingers down Fred's arm, she raised her head slightly and kissed him gently. "Fred," she whispered, settling her head down on the pillow again. "Fred, wake up."