It was early in the morning when Lynette is woken up by the rising sun shining through the buildings and their open window into her lidded eyes.
The sky still tinged pink with the slow and lazy crawling of dawn from the horizon, and it was still much too early for her to have to wake up. However, the young wife does not even get the chance to look at the clock for the hour before she realizes she desperately need to pee.
The Lovecrafts usually indulge in chamomile tea before bed, as it is great for digesting their rather heavy dinners and rest their stress-ridden minds every evening, leading to tranquil sleeping for seven and a half blissful hours. However, the flower was also a powerful diuretic, and would often have one or both of them waking up early for a short trip to the bathroom.
They both hated it, and yet both still drank the tea while finishing some conversation or another, carried over from dinner.
With a silent groan, Lynette stands from the bed, ignoring her creaking bones and hobbling to the bathroom connected to the room she shares with her husband of little over a year, Gill.
As soon as she sits on the toilet, the psychologist stares at the seahorse tiles that decorated the walls and loses herself in sleepy thoughts, almost taking a nap against the cool wall.
After he took over from his brother at the vice-presidency of LCI, the pink-haired woman half-expected them to have to move away to Boltimore, or at the very least to a larger apartment in some other, more prestigious part of town, but he had refused with an easy-going smile. He said he would not like to leave the apartment where they spent so much time together, and he even bought it from their landlord to show how committed he was about staying put.
She was sure, however, that if she asked of him, Gill would find a penthouse overnight for them to move into, anywhere she could possibly want it, but she did not care either way. She liked their tiny corner, and her husband had a point about how many memories they shared over there. Besides, she knows that it will come a day where such tiny space would not do, as the purpose of marriage usually was to have children, and she does not want to rush things. Those, as well as their moving away, will come in due time.
After peeing, washing her hands and brushing her teeth, Lynette walks back into the bedroom feeling much more awake and knowing right then that she will not be able to fall back asleep, no matter how early in the morning it is.
Feeling disappointed for the loss of sleep, she walks straight out of the bedroom, silently creeping down to the kitchen so she can have a head start on preparing breakfast.
The woman cooks breakfast in lonely peace, which was a rarity for such an overbearing demeanour like her husband's. There was not a peep to be heard from the bedroom the whole time, so she decides to plate the food and then bring Gill breakfast in bed.
When Lynette reaches the bedroom, she is taken by the desire of laughing from the scene before her. He is spread across the bed when she enters the room, arm reaching out to her side in search of a body that had not been there for a while now. He is still fast asleep and the thought of him looking for her even in his sleep makes her smile.
She sets the tray on their dresser, approaching the side of the bed slowly and quietly. She sits next to him, brushing his messy blond hair away from his face so she can kiss his cheek.
"Gill? Gill, darling, it's time for you to get up." She whispers, pressing another kiss to his jawline.
The man stirs, groaning lowly, and she can see his hand form a fist in their soft sheets. She kisses where his jawline and neck connect, then move to kiss just under his ear.
Gill lets out another groan, though this one sounds a lot happier than the last. He slowly rolls over so he can face her, peering into her face through drooping eyelids.
"Good morning." Lynette murmurs, smiling down at him.
He licks his lips, squeezing his bloodshot eyes shut and bringing his hands up to rub at them.
"Morning." He rasps, lifting his hips to shift his weight till he faces her. "What smells so good?"
His brow furrowed in sleepy confusion as he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her down and closer to him. She runs a hand through his hair again as it falls in front of his eyes, wanting to see his full, adorable, barely awake expression, while she steadies herself with the other against his straight shoulders.
"I made you breakfast in bed." Lynette perks up, feeling self-satisfied with her surprise.
The blond man stares up at his wife, taking a moment to process the words coming out of her mouth. "You made me breakfast in bed?"
She happily nods in response, and moves to stand up and bring him the tray, only to be tugged back down.
Gill sits up, cupping her face in the hand not on her waist and kissing her full on the lips. There is no tongue, just the warm, smooth pressure of his lips against hers, as to avoid his terrible morning breath. After he is satisfied with it, he pulls back and kisses her sweetly on the forehead.
"I love you." He declares, as if she has made him a great service in cooking scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.
"I love you too, Gill." She responds, giggling. "Now, will you let me bring you the tray or will the food grow cold before we can eat it?"
The man smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, sure. Sorry for distracting you. Please, bring me the food."
She smirked, pleased. "As you please."
He finally lets his wife stand up and move a couple of steps away from their much-used marital bed. She quickly brings over the nicely-decorated tray, setting it evenly in his lap, and sits next to him with her back against the stuffed headboard, pecking at the meal.
Gill looks up from the meal, smirking sleepily. With his deep, gravelly morning voice and a mischievous wink, he says, "I guess I'll just get off work early tonight. I must make it up to you at dinner."
