A series of loud knocks at the door made Denny involuntarily forget her dream. She made a sound of frustration and pressed her face deeper into her pillow, hoping for the banging to stop. She desperately clung onto the remaining strings of the dream, to eat, no, to simply see, the amazing, fluffy, marshmallows. Her hopes of even glimpsing the imaginary deliciousness were completely thrown away when the impatient knocks started again, this time, an angry voice quick to accompany it.


She groans and flung her pillow over her face, she hates her name and he knows it.

"Get your skinny ass up and let me in!"

She glares at the door, hoping that, for some reason, he would be able to receive it. She imagined him flinching at her anger and grinned. She hurled the nearest thing, her pillow, at the door, and was deeply satisfied when it hits its' target with a resounding "thump." She immediately felt like a retard for hurting an inanimate object. Damn, that wasn't the smartest thing to do, now that she doesn't have her pathetic excuse for earplugs. She eyed the pillow that's two meters away and contemplated with the thought of getting her companion back. But that would require her standing up and leaving her warm blankets. She glared at the pillow, and half heartedly tried to urge it back with her eyes.

He completely ignored her attempt of making him shut up.

"I know you're probably burning holes on your pillow cuz if I wasn't mistaken, you t threw it, so you'll have to come get it, since we both know you can't sleep without that thing. Which would also mean that you'll open the door cuz you can't resist your amazing best friend, who, by the way, brought you some marshmallows and—"

She tuned out whatever else he had to say. Did he just say marshmallows? Maybe she should get out of bed and get her pillow back. But then she'll have to leave her blanket. She frowned, trying to decide.

"Denny, did you hear me? Marshmallows with strawberry milkshake!"

Her eyes widened at the mention of her favorite drink. Marshmallows and strawberry milkshake, who can resist that? Yup, it's decided, food defiantly beats sleeping.

Denny ran to the door and flung it open. Devon had his hand in mid-air, getting ready to knock again.

"Did you say marshmallows?" She repeated dreamily.

He looked down, surprised. It quickly disappeared and a look of triumph replaced it. "I knew that would work."

Denny gaped at him and stuttered, "wha—what do you mean—you mean there's no—" She narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him accusingly.


He pushed past her, his eyes sparkling, laughing at her. "Damn it was way harder getting you to wake up last time. Remember how I had to slather peanut butter on you just for you to open your eyes?"

"And remember how I gave you a black eye afterwards?" She shot back at him, arms folded across her chest.

"But the girls loved it, they had an excuse to touch this sexy beast," he gestured to his body.

She scrunched up her nose in disgust. They were like flies, hovering around waste, except worse, because they worse skirts that were the length of the width of a belt and screwed every guy they saw.

"What are you wearing?" He stared at her from his usual spot at the sofa.

She looked down at her oversized shirt, "what normal people wear when it's seven in the morning and t heir asshole friend happens to be the first thing they see."

He gave her a look of mock hurt. "Aww Denny, I love you too—wait, are you not wearing any pants?" A look of amusement crossed his face.

She rolled her eyes, "Shut up Dev, I like to sleep without pants on. It's more comfortable, you should try it." She winks, sauntering over to him.

He chuckled and patted his lap suggestively.

She plopped herself on him and leaned back, this might be even better than her pillow.

" So why did you come bother me if you didn't have marshmallows?"

He laughed and patted her head. Scowling, she swatted his hand away.

"Is that all you care about? Marshmallows? Are they more important than your best friend, hmm? I just wanted to see my best friend, is that such a crime?"

She snorted and looked at him.

" Are you soft and chewy? Are you irresistible—wait, don't answer that— Is your favorite place hot chocolate? Is your – "

He put his hand on her mouth, stopping her rambling.

" Well, the girls obviously think I'm soft and chewy, considering the looks they give me."


There was a slight pause. She turned to look at him.

He seemed to be thinking about something. "4037."


"That's how many times you've called me a jerk. I started counting since we were four when I super glued your marshmallows onto the table and watched you desperately trying to get them off. That was the first time you called me a jerk." He thought for a while, "Although you probably called me that in your head a lot more than you said it."

"I hated you for that and got you back two weeks later when super glued your hands together." She smirked at him, eyes dancing with mischief.

He groaned, clearly remembering the pain he had to go through at the hospital to try to get his hands to separate.

"Who's the jerk now?"

"Touché." She grinned at him,"but you love me anyways."

His arms encircled her, pulling her close to him. She sighed in content, burying her head in his chest, inhaling his cologne.

"How can I not? Jerks are made for each other." He kissed her on the cheek, grinning at her sleepy face.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence.



He made a face at the annoying nickname.

"Don't call me that, Denise."

She ignored his attempt at making her angry.

" Can you make me breakfast later?"

"What do you want? Marshmallows? Scrambled, fried, or sunny side up?" He teased, poking her.

She tried to glare at him but couldn't resist letting out a laugh.