#*psst*

14/03/21

Subject "💛" has made a request for highly classified information concerning the capabilities and future plans of research staff. They are once again successfully attempting to endear themself to their researcher in what I am now certain is an attempt to divert suspicion. I have decided that the passive observation stage of the "💛" protocol has come to an end. Active questioning and experimentation will begin now.

You mean who I hate the least?

Zannah my love! I don’t know how you do this lol. I have a handful of requests right now (and I have pretty small hands) but it’s taking me so long to get through them! Yours took me a good hour and it’s so short! Thank you sooo much for sending something in. I really hope you like it! ❤❤

CW: sweet fluffy fluff

You can feel the rising sun slowly warming the back of your scalp and the loose hairs fanned out on your pillow. You roll over in your sleep and your arm smacks something hard. Solid. Warm. You blink the haze out of your vision. The only thing you see is Charlie’s face, still somewhere in dreamland. Content. Relaxed. Soft. A stark contrast to his chest, hidden underneath his bright white t-shirt, where your hand now rests.

It wasn’t like him to sleep in. In a strange way, it was almost disorienting to wake up with him still next to you. Usually by this time, he was already up, showered, dressed, and ready to bolt out the door with a kiss to your cheek.

You roll onto your back and shift your palm over his heart, counting the slow steady beats. You think about how hard he’s been working lately. New show on Broadway. Sleepless nights. Followed by early mornings. Plus it was Sunday - a day the whole cast and crew agreed would be a day off. He more than deserved the time. Deserved to sleep a little longer. And deserved a hot breakfast when he woke up.

Resolved in your decision, you scoot scoot scoot off the mattress, trying your best not to disturb him. Charlie only grumbles and rolls away from you with the weight change. You slip on your robe, make your way to the kitchen, and start in.

You’ve just cracked three eggs into a sizzling butter coated pan when he comes padding in. He’s still in that t-shirt and his soft plaid pajama pants.

“Morning honey,” you say over your shoulder before returning your attention to his eggs. He seems just as out of sorts as you did when you first awoke.

“Morning sweetheart,” he mumbles back, looking between the small table, counters, you. He certainly wasn’t used to you being up before him, cooking him breakfast. He didn’t really know what to do. You chuckle to yourself, maybe enjoying his confusion a bit too much.

Charlie settles on pulling a chair out and seating himself at the kitchen table. Just in time for you to slide the over-easy eggs on a plate and the toast to pop out of the toaster. You set the food in front of him and walk back to the cabinet. You open it and grab his favorite mug -- that you bought for him -- and fill it with his favorite coffee. Fresh and steaming. Grasping it with both hands, you reach out to hand it to him.

“Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

With a smirk, he takes the cup from you.

Feigning concern, you place a fist under your chin, one finger on your cheek. “It’s two sugars, right?”

it’s called bronze lizard