Worderlands

There's something relaxing, Dean thinks, about a day like today: dark clouds painting the sky, fat drops of rain rolling down the window panes, nowhere to go and no-one to see. He sits on his couch, a book in one hand, the other playing with Hannah's hair as she dozes with her head on his knees. His gaze moves, every so often, to her rounded stomach, the tiny movements making him smile and marvel simultaneously and he knows that there is nowhere else he would rather be.