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Lydia tries to get out of bed as quietly as possible. She’s even gone so far as to activate a rune or two in an attempt to slip out from under the covers - and under Isabelle’s arm - without waking her girlfriend.
Unfortunately, as Isabelle’s made clear several times in the past, growing up with two older brothers means that she learned at a young age how to sleep lightly enough to be alerted when someone is moving around her. In the case of her brothers, it was to avoid pranks, but in Lydia’s case, it’s an awareness reserved for one morning a week.
“Hey.” The word stops Lydia’s movements immediately. Izzy’s voice is quiet, but it isn’t spoken with the sleepy haze of someone who just woke up. Lydia curses softly under her breath as she stops trying to roll out of bed and settles back against her pillow.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Lydia says, hoping to distract Izzy from the incoming accusation with the compliment. It doesn’t work.
“Oh no you don’t,” Izzy chides. “What day is it?”
“Sunday,” Lydia says, already shifting so that her head is tucked against Izzy’s shoulder, her body curving to fit perfectly against Izzy’s side.
“And what do we do on Sundays?”
The question is rhetorical, they both know the answer before Lydia says it, but she says it anyway.
“We sleep in.”
“We, at the very least, laze around in bed,” Izzy confirms. “We certainly don’t get up at fucking dawn, baby.”
Lydia glances over to where the first soft beams of light are barely peeking through the curtains.
Sleeping in - or at least staying in bed and not doing anything that could be classified as ‘productive’ - was something Isabelle insisted on every Sunday. Just one day a week when Lydia would promise not to be her usual overachieving, on-the-go self and properly relax. They started doing it after Lydia nearly burned herself out a few months back, staying up past midnight and waking up at (or sometimes before) 6 every day for weeks to tackle the extra work she kept taking on for herself. It took some convincing, but at the time agreeing to one lazy morning a week didn’t seem like such a bad compromise.
Except Lydia’s never been the best at doing nothing. She knows it’s good for her, and she loves every second she gets to spend with Isabelle, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to slip away to get a little work done on the stack of reports she knows is waiting on her desk. If it’s up to her, Lydia would rest when she’s dead.
Which is one of the many reasons why she’s thankful she has Isabelle.
Isabelle, who forces her to take these pauses to enjoy some quiet time together. Isabelle, who reminds her that she’s allowed to just be without producing something to constantly justify her existence. Isabelle, who gives her permission to be selfish with her time even if it’s just once a week.
“Do you think you can fall back asleep?” Izzy asks, running her hand up and down Lydia’s arm, the touch slow and gentle enough to litter goosebumps in its wake.
“Probably,” Lydia admits. It’s been a long week, and she’s already feeling her eyelids close for a bit longer every time she blinks. The warmth of the recently returned blanket and the comfort of Isabelle’s arms around her leave Lydia practically melting back into the mattress in response, and yeah, she’s pretty sure if she gives into it she could fall back to sleep for a little while longer.
“Good,” Isabelle says. “Then turn that beautiful brain of yours off and close your eyes.” Izzy leans over and places a kiss on Lydia’s temple, then her nose, and then the corner of her lip. At the last second Lydia shifts her head to the side to catch Izzy’s lips with her own instead.
“I love you,” Lydia whispers, pressing her forehead against Isabelle’s. She hopes Izzy knows that she means it, and she isn’t saying it just to say it. Lydia’s so thankful to have Isabelle in her life, so grateful for these little moments even when her nature is to fight against them.
“Love you, too.”