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It's the first day she's had off in over a week and Melissa wakes up to rays of sunshine peeping through her curtains. It's still early morning; the light is pale and grey with no real heat behind it, but she can't remember the last time she woke up to find the sun already in the sky. She already feels more awake, although that may be more due to the eight hours of uninterrupted hours of sleep she managed to grab.
She takes a few moments to simply bask in the sun and let it slowly warm her up. It's while she's tilting her face towards the window that she realizes there's something else strange about the morning, something that almost certainly stirred her from slumber.
It's faint, but she can smell bacon.
It can't be Scott making it; while she was absolutely exhausted when she got home last night, she vaguely remembers getting a text from him saying that he was spending the night at Stiles'. Besides, if Scott was the one making bacon, the house would absolutely reek of it; the amount of meat he can consume in one sitting is more than a little alarming.
(There's been a few times where she's considered asking Scott if he would go out to the Preserve with Malia and bring back a deer. It would certainly reduce their grocery bills.)
Maybe someone's broken in. Maybe there's a hungry thief making use of her kitchen or some supernatural being is trying to lure her downstairs into a trap. It's a bit of a stretch, but it certainly wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened to her since she became privy to the true nature of many of Beacon Hills' inhabitants.
Before she can come up with another increasingly far-fetched scenario, she hears footsteps on the stairs. There's something familiar about them, the way they avoid every squeaky step and loose board in the hallway.
By the time the bedroom door creaks open, she knows exactly who she's about to see.
"I was kind of hoping you'd still be sleeping," Braeden says, bumping the door open with her hip. She's still in her motorcycle jacket and leather pants and she's effortlessly balancing a tray loaded with plates and mugs of steaming coffee.
"When did you get in?" Melissa asks, sitting up and kicking the blankets away from her legs.
"Just after five, I think. I didn't want to wake you up, not on your day off." She gently lowers the tray onto Melissa's lap before sliding onto the other side of the bed and taking one of the coffee mugs. For a few moments, Melissa focuses on her breakfast (there's pancakes and scrambled eggs in addition to the bacon, perfectly crispy) and tries not to stare at Braeden too much.
She can't help it; her wife's been away on business for nearly three weeks and while there were text messages and brief Skype calls, they were no substitute for actually seeing Braeden's face, for being able to wake up to her dark hair fanned across both of their pillows.
"How'd everything go?" she asks. "Make any sales?"
"Loads," Braeden says with a smirk. "Pretty sure I sold more in three weeks than Chris Argent has in six months."
"I wouldn't doubt it," Melissa laughs. She's too busy getting used to looking at Braeden's smile again to notice a piece of egg sliding from her fork. It lands in her lap with a quiet splat and she groans, picking it off her pajamas. After that, she tries to pay more attention to her plate, at least for a few minutes. The only sound from Braeden is a quiet clink as she sets her mug on the nightstand. She doesn't talk, but that isn't unusual; while she may have a sharp tongue and a library of sarcastic phrase to reel out in public, Braeden is quieter, a little softer, when it's just the two of them.
But today isn't just one of those quiet days. Melissa finishes up her breakfast and sets the tray on the floor but when she turns to ask Braeden if she has any plans for the day, the words stop at her lips.
Braeden is completely passed out. Her hair is curtained around her face and she's resting just below the pillow, rather than on top of it. Her feet are dangling over the edge of the bed and her full lips are parted slightly. She looks so peaceful that Melissa is almost tempted to take a picture, to keep with her for the next time Braeden leaves for a long stretch of time.
She manages to resist the urge. Instead, even though her coffee mug is still nearly full, she sets it on the floor beside the tray. She pulls the blankets back up to cover them both before she lays back down, right in a patch of sunlight. She doesn't want to risk waking Braeden up by trying to move the pillow under her head, so she settles for brushing some of Braeden's dark curls away from her face before she lets her own eyes drift closed again.
She has no reason to get out of bed yet. When she wakes up, her coffee will still be there and, better yet, so will her wife.