The early morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, illuminating the room. The RED Scout opened his eyes slowly, yawning, and gazed up at the plain white ceiling. The young man took a deep breath, taking in the crisp, cool morning air, before rolling over onto his side to gaze at the blurry form of the Sniper, sound asleep beside him. He listened to the older man's slow, steady breathing for a few seconds, then slowly got out of bed, taking care as to not wake the sleeping marksman beside him.
The Scout walked carefully, making sure not to trip over anything that might be laying on the floor. Combing his fingers through his messy, short hair, he made his way over to the small closet on the other side of the room and lazily got dressed. There was a soft mumble from the other side of the room, signifying that the other man was waking up. The Sniper was always slow to get up in the morning, and Scout knew that it would be at least a few more minutes before the Australian finally managed to haul himself out of bed.
Stepping into the bathroom- not bothering to close the door - Scout fumbled for his toothbrush and squirted a small amount of toothpaste onto it, gazing tiredly at his blurred reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. A few minutes later, a very distinctly Australian voice carried across the room, breaking the silence.
"Who's in charge of makin' breakfast this morning?"
Scout paused, spitting out the toothpaste in his mouth and rinsing off his toothbrush. "Pyro."
A soft "hmm" was the only response Scout got, and the room returned to its silent state again. The Bostonian began combing his hair—even though it was relatively short, it still managed to find a way to get extremely messy overnight. He put his baseball cap on afterwards, briefly wondering why he even bothered with brushing his hair each morning when it's just going to be hidden anyways.
He took a brief moment to massage his right shoulder. A couple of too-hard swings of his bat during the last mission had left him a bit sore, although the Scout really didn't mind it all too much. He still had a couple of marks from the last mission, as well: a couple of small scratches down his left arm, a small cut on his leg that hat long since stopped bleeding, and a small, light purple bruise that sat on his cheekbone. They didn't hurt at all, and the Scout saw no point in going to see the Medic for such small abrasions to his otherwise clear skin.
He grabbed a small container off the bathroom counter and carefully took a contact lens out of it, inserting it into his left eye with great care. He blinked, then took the other lens out and repeated the process. He paused, taking some time to blink a few more times. When he opened his eyes, he glanced in the mirror to see the crisp, clear image of the now-awake Sniper standing behind him. The Aussie wrapped his strong arms around the shorter male's waist, kissed the Scout's head just above his ear, and grinned.
"I didn't know you wore contacts."