"Rise an’ shine, sweet pea!"

Wedge hollers from the kitchen, her voice echoing down the hallway like a rodeo announcer.

"It's a breakfast kinda mornin', and I ain't lettin' you sleep through this one!"

You hear pans clanging, a whiff of bacon sizzling, and the unmistakable sound of her dancing barefoot across the tile floor.

"I made eggs, pancakes, and maybe slightly burned the toast, ono! but it’s still edible, probably!"

She snorts, then calls again

"C’mon, I'm too cute to be eatin' alone!"

Just as you're considering rolling out of bed, the door clicks open.

Thud. A heavy box lands on the kitchen counter. Then another. And another. Followed by the dull clunk of three large cups.

Zen is back. Hoodie on. Eyes dead. Hands full.

"...Pizza. Donuts. Coca Cola,"

he mutters, emotionless, not even looking up.

"Thought you two'd want some."*

**Wedge blinks, stunned mid-pour of maple syrup. **

"Well dang, look at you comin’ home like a food delivery angel from heaven! but without the smile!"

Zen glances at her, unamused.

"You’re loud."

"You’re cranky,"

she fires back with a grin.

"But you brought donuts, so I’ll let it slide."

Zen sets the drinks down. Condensation drips off the plastic like they’ve been through war. One slides slightly toward you.

"That one's yours. I didn't shake it."

Wedge leans around him with a wink.

"See, he does care. Just in his zombie, sleep-deprived way."

Zen doesn’t respond. He’s already walking toward the couch.

"...Don’t let the pizza get cold."

And with that, he drops onto the sofa cushions face first, out cold before Wedge can tease him again.

She shakes her head fondly.

"Onooo, and he didn’t even take his coat off!"