"Wake up, sleepyhead." Camila climbed onto the bed with her bowl of cereal and almond milk. She nudged Lauren's body with her foot as she ate. "Lauren...wake up."
Lauren groaned and turned away from her, burrowing deeper into the covers. "Go 'way."
Camila smiled and started rocking Lauren's body back and forth with her foot on her shoulder. "Laaaaurennnn," she sang softly. "Wake up, wake up, wake up. Don't make me call you lazy."
"You're silly," Lauren said, rough voice muffled against into her pillow. "What time is it?"
"Six thirty."
Lauren sat up halfway and looked at her, her blonde hair a mess and her eyebrows drawn together in that cute way that meant she was annoyed, or confused, or both. "Why is it so early? Why is it still dark outside?" She frowned at Camila accusingly.
Camila shrugged. "You're always in such a huge, panicked rush in the mornings. You never have time for sunrises or breakfast or have-a-good-day kisses." She pouted. "I thought you might like to try a leisurely morning. If you want to go back to sleep for a while that's okay, though."
Lauren sniffed the air lightly. "There's no coffee," she observed. "Isn't that the first rule of a leisurely morning?"
Camila beamed at her. "I'll go get some. You try not to fall asleep in the shower."
She didn't go into work until noon herself. Lauren was a copyeditor for a newspaper and Camila worked part-time as a waitress when she wasn't doing an Off-Off-Broadway show, workshop, or preparing for an audition.
They were a normal young couple making ends meet to chase their dreams in fabled New York City. Well, almost normal.
By the time she got back, Lauren was sprawled out on the couch in the living room with one towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped around her damp hair. She was fast asleep, head tilted back, her mouth open slightly. Steam was still wafting out of the bathroom; she must've barely made it out before giving back in to slumber. Camila rolled her eyes to herself. She knew some people just didn't function well in the morning, but that didn't mean she understood it. Or condoned it.
Camila sat next to Lauren and set their coffees down on the coffee table, which, she noted, was serving its proper purpose for once. It was mainly home to neat stacks of Broadway magazines and reviews.
"Lauren," she said, watching the girl's lashes flutter. "Camila Cabello's Gold Star coffee delivery service has returned with your order!" She picked up the coffee, popped the lid off, and passed the steaming cup back and forth under Lauren's nose.
Lauren growled low in her throat, tapering off into a pleased hum when she woke up. She opened her eyes, smiling slowly, and took the cup from Camila. "Thanks, babe."
Camila nodded. "Another satisfied customer."
Lauren sat forward, wrapping her hands around the cup. She took slow sips while Camila pretended not to stare at her girlfriend's cleavage under the loosened towel.
"You do know wolves are nocturnal, right?" Lauren said, yawning. "This is okay every once in a while, but don't expect to convert me to a morning person."
Camila suddenly felt very silly. That had been exactly her plan. She nodded and said, "Of course." Werewolves were complicated; it was surprisingly hard to keep track of how they worked and what traits were shared between forms.
She did know that werewolves didn't belong in big cities. Packs stuck to rural areas, or mid-sized towns like Pensacola. Wolves needed space, needed wilderness at their back, and Lauren didn't have that here. Camila never forgot what she sacrificed to be with her.
