You and Mr. Wonka

Good Morning, Starshine

You crack open your sleep-crusted eyes to the sounds of birds singing faintly, the window adjacent to the bed casting sunbeam slats across the room. The scene is like something straight out of a cartoon. Which makes sense, considering the man laying next to you. Willy Wonka shifts in his position under the covers to look at you.

He beams his awkward goofy grin at you, and you can't help but return it. You feel like a child who's been gifted a thousand puppies on christmas morning whenever he looks up at you with his purple tinted eyes, though that simile pales in comparison to the true love you feel for him. It's indescribable. Attempting to put words to the ache in your chest is like trying to think of a new color. 
Fuck, color. He's so colorful and vibrant, with his eccentric personality and clothes to match. His face is nearly as white as fresh snow, with his soft red lips being perfectly imperfectly complimented by his complexion. My very own Snow White, you think, snuggling into his chest.
"Good morning, my lovely, sweet-as-the-bestest-candy, darling dear," he sleepily rambles out, wrapping his long arms around your shoulders. You let out a deep chuckle, vibrating his chest in a way that makes his breath hitch slightly. You slide up a bit to gaze into his eyes. You lean in and give him good morning kisses.
You can feel him smiling under the weight of your lips, which again in turn makes you do so as well, and soon you're both giggling like a couple of school boys. 
That's another thing on an infinitely massive pile of reasons that makes you love him so much. He makes you feel young, which you admit is very sappy and cliche, but definitely a nice thing.

When the giggle fit dies down and you are just holding each other, limbs entangled, bodies tangled in the warm red duvet, Willy starts to stretch. "Sweetheart, (y/n), I wish upon a million stars that we could stay exactly in this position all day, multiple days even, but we both have work to get done. But! Don't worry," he adds as you start groaning. He shushes you with a slim finger to your lips and starts sitting up. "I'll make us breakfast. And coffee!" He's standing up off the bed and stretching his joints out. "That sounds really good right now. Coffee," you mutter, yawning. Willy claps his hands together. "Then that's what I'll make. And pancakes! With blueberry marmalade!" He turns to the door, and then turns back around to look at you. 
"You take a shower and get dressed, okay? Food will be ready when you are!" He grins and heads out toward the kitchenette in your living quarters.

You sit for a minute before getting up, stretching, and heading towards the closet to pick your outfit for school. You chuckle at the absurdity of how that sounds. You're (whatever age), not going to school, rather teaching at the school. You look at three options.

> red plaid shirt tucked into blue jeans
>creme collared shirt, black tie, black pants
>white collared shirt, green sweater vest, red tie, blue jeans 

You take the (your choice of outfit) out and carry them to the bathroom, humming a little tune. You strip out of your (color) pajamas and set the shower to (temperature), just as you like it. As you are shampooing your hair you get to reminiscing about just how you met this wonderful magical love of your life...