Rory suddenly became aware that he’d thrown up his hands in premature surrender, leaving the rest of him open to the elements. It was in times like this that he was both desperately disappointed and unfathomably relieved not to be facing Amy.

“Um, In my pants!”

“Actually. Properly. Standing here in my pants! In my home. Which I am allowed to do!”

–and his hands were still up. His hands were still definitely up.

“Could you–” he motioned. “Y’know–”

Mels looked down at him, unimpressed, indifferent.

“Yeah, well, put them on, then. Or stay without. I don’t care.”

She jumped off the windowsill because yes, of course she sneaked through the window instead of knocking like a normal person - boring. Besides why else did they let that tree grow right in front of it if they didn’t want her to climb it?

With a small hop, she sat on his bed, legs crossed. 

“Take your time, I’m sure whatever I came here for wasn’t important and urgent.”

He laughed. "Absolutely amazing. You know what? That's what you should do. You should go to some fancy culinary school, get whatever the hell kind of degree you need to be a chef, and then you should open a restaurant." Yep, he was definitely getting drunk. Ah well, he was drunk with a gorgeous woman in his flat, what could go wrong?