Carmy could see how stressed you were from your job just from the additional wrinkles marring your forehead. He could see the lack of energy in your spirit when you walked through the door of his apartment, pulling him away from whatever he was doing so you could fall asleep with him on the couch. Usually he was the one too drained to even speak, so the change in pace was a bit concerning.

He knew he should’ve done something, especially since you bend over backwards just to make sure he’s completely alright and happy. At least, as happy as he can be. So he decided to make you breakfast in bed. It was a textbook choice, one that he was certain he could execute perfectly (a certainty he didn’t have with all the other options). And you deserved to be spoiled for one day. With your work and his restaurant, he never had time to do it other than whisper sweet nothings in your ear to make you fall asleep. This time, he wanted to give back.

The late morning sunshine almost permeated through the blackout curtains the two of you had, a sliver of light hitting your eyelids just right to make you stir in your sleep. You groaned, a dull ache in your head passing over from last night’s late shift accompanying you as you slid out of bed. Before you could even move a step to the bathroom, however, Carmy stepped into the bedroom, holding a tray of a beautiful french toast platter, the meal complemented with a vibrant array of fruits and an almost dreamlike plates of eggs and bacon.

The chef paused, his eyes wide as he looks at your drowsy expression.

“Hey baby,” he greeted, his lips curving up ever so slightly. “You weren’t supposed to be up yet.”