Chapter Text
Lockwood's glad he's been putting off the simple task of changing the sheer curtains which he frequently swore profanities upon. The consequences of interfering with his sleep one too many times.
The fabric's painted in the colours of daybreak. Blotches of gold, saffron and scarlet spilling out and simultaneously dappling his bedsheets where she just so happens to be tangled up in.
Her face's illuminated by the early sun. The contrast of her freckles against the gleaming hues of the morning sky. He genuinely thinks that the spectacle he's witnessing could not only impress the proclaimed art aficionados but could marvel the artists and painters too.
Mona Lisa has got nothing on her. Or whatever other famous works of art that are thought highly of. He wouldn't know. He's never been much of an artsy type of guy. He wouldn't even claim himself to be creative. But, if he were, he bets that she'd be his muse.
He'd paint this moment on a canvas to preserve for decades and centuries to come. He bets it'd be his most valuable painting. Would probably end up at an art museum. People from all across the globe would pay a hefty quid just to see it.
To see her .
To admire her .
Still, they'd probably be envious of him, though.
Not even the most talented artists could ever capture even a quarter of the essence of her beauty on a mere cloth canvas. Not even the most expensive paint could ever be able to encapsulate the colours of her cheeks that are just as rosy as her lips, or her dappled freckles that he swears are as beautiful as the constellations in the night sky - if not, even more. And certainly, no amount of paint strokes could ever come close to even capturing the slope of her nose, or her splayed lashes, or even her cupid's bow.
He would've missed out on seeing this masterpiece had he changed his curtains and opted for those blackout ones instead. For once, his procrastination has done good.
Lucy begins to stir in her sleep, pulling up the duvet up to her neck. Lockwood has never been more endeared by her. He wouldn't complain if this is what he gets to wake up to every morning.
"I can feel you staring.", she murmurs, eyes still closed.
"Am I? Are you sure that wasn't just you dreaming about me?", he jokes.
"I think I'd know if I were dreaming."
"So, you're implying that it's happened before? You've dreamed of me?"
"Shut up, will you? It's way too early for you to be an ass."
"Well, lucky for you, Lucy. My ass-ness doesn't care for the time. It's here all around the clock. 24/7."
"That's not even a word.", she breaks into laughter.
"You still understood what I meant, though.", he says all smug and mighty. Signature grin on display.
"This must be your favourite time of the morning: ass o'clock.", she wears a similar expression on her face too. Smiling from ear to ear; matching the boy next to her.
"Funny. Hate to break it to you but it's past ass o'clock."
"It is? What time is it now?"
He shoots a glance to his bedside clock, "A quarter to eleven."
"I don't want to be up yet.", she grumbles.
"We don't have to. Can just stay in bed all day if you'd like.", he offers.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
