Eight has changed a lot of things about Three's life.
Before dating Eight, or meeting Eight, or thinking anything more about the number than an angel of flesh and blood, Three was miserable. She thinks that'd be the only way to describe herself, really - grumpy, and snappy, and irritable, but also dull and empty. She was the kind of person who was on a first name basis with all the people working at the city spawns. Some sort of societal failure. Some sort of corpse, alive but not living.
Before dating Eight, Three didn't care. Three didn't care about anything or anyone and most certainly not herself. She had a carpet of bandages and dirty clothes and cracker crumbs on the now clean floor. But Three bought a vacuum because of Eight. Three vacuumed up multiple cockroaches because of Eight. That in and of itself is a horrible experience, but Three did it for Eight nonetheless.
Hell, Three barely even did the laundry before meeting her. And now Three is laying beside her in a clean bed with a clean floor and freshly-washed sheets that smell like lavender and cigarettes and now Eight, too. As the sunlight streams in through the blinds, Three sees the slow rise-and-fall of her girlfriend's chest and she finds herself smiling.
Three thinks she got lucky with Eight. No, Three knows it.
Eight snores quietly. Three hopes whatever she's dreaming of is good. Three hopes she's as happy as she is right now.
As Three watches Eight, she feels a fond fullness in her chest. She ponders for a moment as to what it is, and she isn't as shocked at the conclusion as she should have been.
Oh, I'm in love.
Her morning doesn't go much differently after that. There's a routine she's formed, but not consciously. Three made Eight breakfast once, and Eight liked it, so then Three did it again, and again, and now on mornings when Three doesn't wake up with Eight beside her, she still gets up and makes food and then never eats it.
When Eight stumbles into the kitchen, yawning with sleep in her eyes, Three looks up from the pan and can't stop herself from smiling.
"Good morning, angel," she greets.
Eight rubs her eyes and then blinks a few times groggily.
"Hi, Three," she mumbles, her voice grainy with sleep. "What're you making?"
"Eggs," Three responds. Eight walks towards her and wraps her arms around her waist, burying her face in the nape of Three's neck.
"I like eggs," Eight states, the words muffled. "I like you."
"I like you too," she says, and Eight hums softly and mumbles more words into her skin. "I'm off today, if you want to do something."
"Okay." Eight breathes in slowly, leaning onto Three further. "I had a dream we got married."
Three coughs a few times as she chokes on her spit. "I- Did you?"
"Mhm," she replies. "You were wearing a dress, and you were so pretty. I wanted to kiss you, but I woke up before I could."
"Um. You can kiss me now, if you'd like." So Eight does that, and Three briefly wonders if the eggs are burning. Eight still tastes like morning breath, which isn't pleasant, but Eight is pleasant and Three doesn't care about much beyond that.
"Do you think one day you'd want to get married?" Eight asks quietly.
"Maybe one day," Three answers slowly, "But not now."
"Mmh," Eight hums, and just kisses her again.
When they sit down to eat, the only thing Three can think of is, well... Marriage. It's a fun thing to think about, but she knows realistically she isn't ready for it. She's too young. They're both too young, and they haven't been together long enough, but Three still thinks about it.
She thinks about walking down the aisle to meet Eight and she thinks about the dress she'd wear, and if Eight would wear a dress or a suit and she thinks about the cake and dancing and the cold ring on her finger and two small words: "I do."
It's kind of a sappy thing to think about - and not even a very likely thing to happen. But Three still thinks about it, and she thinks about their honeymoon, and she thinks about waking up every morning like she did today - with Eight sleeping beside her as the sunlight streams in while the birds outside sing.
Three takes a sip of her coffee as Eight eats her eggs. Eight's staring at her right now, and Three wonders if she has something on her face.
"Is something wrong?" she asks.
"You're beautiful," Eight breathes, and she sounds so sincere Three thinks she really might believe her. She laughs, then, soft and light, and Three blushes a dark orange.
"Ah... Um, thanks," she mumbles, taking another sip of her drink. "You're, um... Really pretty, too."
Eight smiles kind of dopily. "Can I ask you to call me angel again?"
"I... Um, I could do it, yes," she responds, blinking. "Why?"
"I like it," Eight explains, leaning over the table. She rests her head in her hands and she watches Three attentively. "It makes me feel special."
"You are special," Three says, and after a small pause, she quietly adds, "Angel."
Softly, Eight giggles, and Three feels her hearts swell with... Love.
Yeah. Three loves Eight, and the more she thinks about it the better she feels.
"You said you're off today?" Eight asks with a mouthful of eggs in her mouth. Once she swallows, Eight continues, "Do you want to go out today?"
"I don't know," she replies, taking another slow sip of her drink. "I don't care much either way, really. If you want to do something, we can. What's the date? I can check what's open."
"It's Saturday. November 10th," Eight states.
"Oh," Three says aloud, "It's my birthday."
"It's your birthday?" she asks, then her eyes widen. "Three, why didn't you tell me?"
"I forgot," she responds with a shrug.
"And you never told me before either!" Eight snaps. She sighs, picking at the last few bits of eggs on her plate. "I wish you told me. I could've gotten you something."
"Sorry," Three mumbles, downing the rest of her drink. "You don't have to get me anything anyways."
"But I want to, and- You know, I could have at least gotten you a card or something." She sighs. "Today I wanna go out and do stuff with you because now you're old."
"You're older than me," Three states. "If I'm old, you're ancient."
"Well, I'm nineteen too," Eight huffs. "So we're both old now."
"You're still older than me though." Eight's eyebrow twitches. "It's the truth."
"Then you're just going to have to take care of me, 'cause I'm ancient." Teasingly, she grins at Three, who rolls her eyes in return.
"Okay, grandma. Go get dressed and maybe I'll think about it," Three responds flatly.
"If I'm old, you should help me," Eight states.
Three blinks. "Help you with what."
"Oh, you know," she starts. "Changing my clothes."
Three blinks again a few more times in what can only be described as gay shock.
"Are," Three begins, "Are you trying to flirt with me by being an old lady?"
Eight winks at her.
Sighing, Three very much does not blush or consider the idea of undressing Eight even a little bit.
"It's working," Eight breathes, smirking.
"Shut up. It isn't." Eight gives her the look. "It's not. Stop looking at me."
"So you're saying," Eight starts, "That you wouldn't be interested in seeing me naked at all?"
Three considers that statement really hard and responds by standing up with so much force that her chair topples over. Calmly - calmly - she grabs her mug and Eight's empty plate, and says, "I'm going to go do the dishes now! Right now. You should, um. Go get ready. Yeah."
At Three's perfectly normal series of action that were not accompanied with blushing, Eight laughs. "Okay, you prude. Do you want me to wash the dishes?"
"I, uh... No. I got it. It's cool." Three clears her throat, watching Eight stand up. Eight's close to leaving the room, but she puts her hand on Three's shoulder on the way out and presses a kiss to her cheek.
"Happy birthday, angel," she purrs, and Three thinks she understands why Eight liked the nickname now.
"Yeah," Three whispers stupidly, "You too."
Eight laughs and leaves the room, and Three stares at the doorway dumbly.
It only takes Three five minutes to realize what she said, and she can't even bring herself to be mad. Love must just be stupid like that, then.