Work Text:
Because Long Island is a fucked up, opposite day every day land, where nothing is right, Chuck's hotel booking fell through. And, because fucked up hell dimensions by chance spit out angels, Kris responded to his bitching on twitter with an offer to stay at her place.
And he didn't fit on the couch, so.
And, like, they knew each other. Well, knew each other well, they both figured. But something flipped in Chuck's stomach the next morning, Kris sitting up and rubbing her eyes, scrunchie sliding down her hair, making it a loose messy bun at her nape. He couldn't help himself, he reached out, pushed up the sleeve of her over sized t-shirt, just to feel her skin.
Kris looked over, hand still up by her face. She smiled, reached over, the arm that Chuck was touching, and pushed his hair back off his forehead.
Chuck decided he could stay in fucked up Long Island for one more night than he needed.