It's not something that he planned, it just happened to work out that way.
Shades knew Mariah was territorial about her space and time, so on the nights he stayed over, he always made damn sure he was out of her house by 5, 5:30 at the latest.
Keeping what was blossoming between them, between them, was his way of showing her respect. He didn't care if everyone in Harlem knew he was the one making her sweat out her press and curl, but he knew the rules for him were not the same for her. So he waited, he could be patient and let her control the pace.
The first time Mariah deviated from this arrangement came a few months into their…relationship? Partnership? Whatever it was, after a long night at the club "somebody want to explain how the hell we damn near ran out of Crown? Do you know where you work? People have been shot for less. And who keeps messing around with thermostat? I'm not running a sweatshop" both Mariah and Shades were beat. The ride back to the brownstone was spent in silence, they each felt the weight of the day and wanted nothing more than a good nights sleep.
Shades woke to the soft buzzing of his alarm. He groaned softly, not wanting to wake Mariah as she lay curled up to his side. Who would have thought the same woman who beat her cousin to death with a mic stand, and not flinch an inch when Stryker shot three men right in front of her, would be a cuddler?
He gently extricated himself from her warmth and was trying to recall if he had left a spare change of clothes, when Mariah stirred. Narrowed eyes regarded him, looked at the clock, then swung back to meet his gaze.
"Stay?" It was part question, part demand.
"Yeah?" It was part question, part answer.
Mariah fixed him with a "it is way to early for this shit" look. "I wouldn't have said it, if I didn't mean it. Get your skinny ass back to bed."
"Yes ma'am."