Lost

The Sun Can Fuck Right Off

The first three months of the year had been easy. It'd been the same routine for almost two years; wake up, go to work until Fury or Coulson sent them home, shower, eat, go to sleep, and repeat.

Days off were almost a foreign subject. . . Which is why being woken up at 8 am on a Saturday, of all days, to the sun in her eyes, particularly annoyed Emilia.

It didn't help that their upstairs neighbors were walking around as if it was their purpose to wake her up. 

Emilia laid in her bed silently for ten minutes, waiting to see if they woke Clint — or if he'd met the same fate as her with the sun.

When no noise came from his room, she got up from her bed and went into the bathroom where she did her business and took a shower. Emilia noticed how her hair was getting too long again and she decided she'd cut it later.

By the time Clint woke up, Emilia had showered, put on a pot of coffee, and made breakfast. It wasn't much, but it was nice. 

"Why the hell were you up so early? I'm usually up before you." 
"The sun and the upstairs neighbors." She responded and he gave an understanding nod. They'd been a problem since they moved in the month prior. 

"We could report them, you know?" Clint suggested and Emilia immediately shook her head. 
"If we report them, then it'll cause unwanted issues with them and we could risk our jobs. Absolutely not. I'd rather endure it."

"Stop being such a people pleaser, Em." Clint sighed, stabbing a potato. 
"I'm working on it."

‐

"When's the last time you cut your hair?" Clint questioned as he followed Emilia into the bathroom — sitting on the edge of the bathtub. 

"Uh, I think it was like October... of my freshman year."

"Jesus, woman! That's been almost six years." 

"Thank you, Clint, for that enlightening statement." Emilia said, opening drawers and digging through them for the scissors she got. 
Finding them, she immediately began working on her hair, spraying it occasionally for dampness. 

By the end, Emilia's hair was a good 8 inches shorter and seemed more manageable than the mess that it'd previously been. 

"Was that much necessary?"
"Yes."
"Do you feel better?"
"Yes."
"Wanna go get hair dye?"
"Is that even a question?"

-

An hour and a half later, Emilia sat in the living room eating pretzels, with bleach on her hair while Clint read the instructions on the box 'just to be sure'.

"I've done this before, I know what to do." She said for the millionth time. 
"Listen, if we mess this up in any way, you'll probably be bald." He responded, glaring when Emilia threw a pretzel at him.

The timer went off and Emilia went to the bathroom to rinse it off. Clint followed to help, knowing she'd miss a place if he didn't. 
"Why don't you just drown me?" She called out, covering her eyes with her wet hands. "I'm trying— you're still talking, which means it's not working."

"Sucks to be you, I guess."