What Is This Shit: Emily and Lysander on their first day of work, September 1982, being all adorable and snarky in the morning.
The first thing Emily noticed was that she was cold. She was often cold, really, which she liked to attribute to her sorting, but over the last few nights of sharing a bed she'd finally adjusted enough to stop kicking in her sleep and start cuddling instead (though that's definitely not the word she'd use). That, coupled with her being a natural morning person, meant she'd just gotten used to waking up warm, curled against Lysander's chest or spooning or any number of sickeningly adorable sleeping arrangements.
This morning, though, she was cold, and when she glanced at the clock on the bedside table, it was much earlier than either of them usually got up. She rolled over to check, and no, her boyfriend was not just inexplicably far away from her, he wasn't in the bed at all. Emily frowned, stretched, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
As she woke up, the pieces fit themselves together in her mind quite naturally. Today was quite a big day for them both, and even she was a tiny bit nervous; Lysander was probably moreso. He'd probably given up on sleep and gone off to do something productive, like putter around in his dark room. Once Emily got up, pulled up the covers on the bed, and shrugged on her cardigan, she headed straight there.
She hated to admit it, but sometimes Emily could be properly considerate, and on her way to go and bother Lysander, she turned on the coffee maker. Both of them liked their caffeine, especially at this ungodly hour. That settled, she tugged her cardigan around herself a little more tightly, then knocked on the door of the dark room. "Lysander?" she called out, as if she didn't know perfectly well where he was.