everyday rhythms.

[daemon_angelus]

Alfred rolls out of bed like how he usually does, one long leg over the other (catches his own ankle along the way, ow), palm reaching the parquet floor to steady himself. crap, where are those damn glasses - fingers scratching over the bedside table for his windows to the world, and the tips come into contact with thin, cold steel - there.

He slips Texas on as he stands up, straightening to his full height before stretching to the left, right, hands linked over a mussed mop of wheat blond hair. Alfred lets out a large yawn, barely bothering to cover his mouth as he does so before something clicks in his mind.

Arthur wasn't next to him.

It was still rather early (by Alfred's standards) but he knew Arthur always got restless once the sun rays started streaming through the curtains. Arthur was an early-riser, got a lot of stuff done throughout the day, went to bed early, prim, proper, organised, like a true gentleman. Sort of. Alfred held back a grimace at that line of thought.

He had padded out to the living room, spacious and bright for a New York apartment (being the United freaking States of America did bring with it some perks after all…), when he spotted Arthur bunched up on the couch.

Dressed in plain boxers and an old sweater, a faded but homely shade of green that complemented his eyes, Arthur had his bare knees up his chest, with Alfred's iPad mini in between. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland had his reading glasses on as well, thin black-framed ones from Paul Frank that Arthur kept as a spare in Alfred's apartment. It had been a gift from the American about five years ago on 16 February (they'd agreed to this date as an anniversary of sorts after Churchill's first use of the term "Special Relationship" in 1944). Arthur wouldn't have to bother with bringing his own reading glasses whenever he travelled between the two countries. Which could only be characterised as 'Very Often'.

The sunlight was just right, and Arthur's sandy blond hair shone a little in the morning light. He had one hand curled under his chin, the other holding the top corner of the iPad mini. Alfred wondered what Arthur was reading, thick brows furrowed slightly, eyes almost unwavering in their motions across the digital page. It was probably a mystery novel. Or one of those cheesy romance stories. (Alfred wondered if random books would be charged to his Apple account yet again…)

But it didn't really matter. Not when Arthur was in his house, comfortable enough to be in just an old sweater, no pants (trousers), using Alfred's electronic device as if it were his own (there was a number lock on it too, 1-6-0-2), and just looking rather gorgeous and all on his couch.

Alfred let out a laugh, startling Arthur slightly. His glasses slipped slightly to the side, brows coming together into a disapproving frown from a look of surprise. Arthur had already started on chastising Alfred, but the latter just continued laughing softly, reaching Arthur in four strides and bringing the other nation into his arms. He nuzzled the side of Arthur's neck, the other already silent from the sudden display of affection, neck already growing warm with embarrassment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

Arthur stiffened (he never could get used to Alfred's compliments), before relaxing into the embrace, returning the gesture.

"Idiot," he mumbled into Alfred's bare shoulder, and Alfred just laughed again.

He could so totally feel the small smile on Arthur's lips.