peeta is always the first to wake up. he wakes up with the sun streaming through his large window, stretches, cracks his neck, and runs to the shower. by the time he gets out, and is drying his hair with a towel in the bathroom mirror, clapton’s alarm clock blares.
with clumsy fingers and a groan, he finds the snooze button on it, stopping its screeching. the faint sound of party music is coming from a speaker he forgot to turn off.
meanwhile, peeta is pulling on a compression shirt and some patterned pajama pants. he runs his hands through his sandy hair to get it out of his face.
clapton finally wakes up around 30 minutes later, yawning and tiredly walking to the bathroom. he’s still mostly asleep when he gets there, so he doesn’t notice how bad his bedhead is, or how he somehow took off his shirt in his sleep, or that the waistband of his boxers is sticking out from his pajama pants. time for a hot shower…
the sun is still warm when futturman wakes up. he showers in the nighttime, so on this morning, he just goes straight to the kitchen, where peeta is making breakfast and clapton is scarfing down an omelette covered in syrup. the room is lively with fresh morning light and energy.
“morning.” he greets the two, rubbing the tiredness from his face.
“pancakes?” peeta offers, turning the pan towards josh to show him.
clapton stuffs the last of his omelette in his mouth, putting the empty plate into the sink. “i’ll wash the dishes later, kay?”
“got it.” peeta holds a thumbs up as josh walks to sit down at the dining table.
clapton starts to walk down the hallway that connects mike and futturman’s bedrooms (as well as a little game room) to the kitchen/dining room. “morning, mike!”
“morning…” mike responds, his voice gruff and raspy. seems like he just woke up by the sound of his speech and the way his hair is sticking up this way and that. he walks past clapton, looking at peeta. “you on breakfast duty today?”
“yep. just making a couple more pancakes for everyone.” peeta smiles.
“cool. get me some.. please.” mike says, scratching his scalp as he walks back into the hallway, towards the second bathroom of the house.
“have you seen derek?” josh asks peeta, now the only one left in the room.
“no, but.. you know him,” he laughs lightly. “he needs his ‘beauty sleep.’”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, I’M TRYING TO FUCKING SLEEP!” derek’s booming voice comes muffled through the walls of the house.
