NOTE: This is an inspired piece, the moments prior to "an_otome_cally_correct"s short story "Morning Habits" on Ao3.

Coming to a stop outside of two large doors, Arthur stood with an ever-present swagger to his posture while gazing at the intricately designed wood separating himself from their recent arrival. Had he known prior that he would be attending to the new addition to their motley crew that morning, he'd have prepared breakfast in bed. Or he'd have had Sebastian cater to his request as he'd been a tad busy before Isaac had asked for him.

A soft sigh leaving his slightly sided smile, the Englishman reached out for the handle, delicate fingers gripping the thin yet sturdy curved metal before opening the door to the dimly lit room. The closed curtains, a creamy brown in colour, helped in shielding the space in its darkness, the bright morning sun losing the battle in its attempts to light the walls and reach the sleeping man curled up in his bed. The figure appeared as delicate as the atmosphere, warm, peaceful, soft, and silent. It reminded him of cooling tea sitting beside him in a library, waiting to be disturbed but reluctant to do so as what he had in hand and within sight held his concentration.

Carefully, Arthur closed the door behind him, the body in bed as motionless as an inanimate object even as the click of it closing could be compared to that of a womans' heel against the hardwood floor. And speaking of... The author only briefly let his gaze fall to the wooden floorboards to measure the short distance to the rug, avoiding any further nuance by gracefully skipping, the sole of his boot making next to nothing in volume as the carpet cushioned his steps.

He'd silently rounded the side of the large, plush bed, barely able to see any sign of the mans' presence if not for the dark tresses peeking out from the head of the thick duvet, somewhat splayed over the even thicker pillows that the newest resident had appeared to bury himself between.

Arthur's soft smile grew some at the sight, his brow quirking gently as he silently lowered himself to sit on the edge of the mattress, reaching out two fingers and carefully hooking the hem of the blanket. Freezing briefly as his motions and or presence seemingly disturbed the man, Arthur only gazed, watching as the sleeping face became visible from under the duvet with his shifting beneath it, the body having turned onto his back. Much like the atmosphere, his features held the very same peace, softness and delicate feel while dead to the world, sound asleep in the comforts of a tailored and warm room.

Continuing to gaze at the sleeping man, he noted the very soft breaths, the sheets only faintly rising and falling. Not only did he have an angelic face, but he also had an angelic way of sleeping. No snoring, no mess of the sheets or splaying out under the duvets. It was almost as if he were a life-sized doll having been placed in a life-sized dolls' bed.

Still softly grasping the hem of the sheets, the author very gently eased the duvet back, careful to not wake the man just yet. Though he shifted with every little movement and brush of the blanket, the lean body beneath turning onto its side, a loose sleeve covered arm freeing itself to rest atop the sheets and draped over his waist, only half-hidden under the unfastened white shirt. As flawless as his sleeping face. Delicate yet lean and strong, defined muscle evident under spotless skin. His collarbone and neck were the same, if not a tad more delicate, uncovered by the slack bed-shirt.

Gravitating closer until he was almost leaning directly over the newest resident, his hand dipping in the mattress beside the mans' head to stabilize his weight, Arthur's soft stare roamed the saintly face, absentmindedly getting closer and closer to note every detail, every shade difference, every lash, as dark as night and as long as they were, framing a creaseless lid, wrinkless with rest. A beautiful man, a truly fitting addition to the growing group of gorgeous men that lived within the mansion.

He hadn't realized just how much space had diminished between them until he'd felt the heavily hot breath against his mouth, brushing along his skin. Arthur blinked slowly, the slumbering mans' state of consciousness almost effecting him, his swagger turned sluggish or just simply slow, feeling tired himself. Not that he minded, it wasn't as though he hadn't gone back to bed during the day befor-

Freezing solidly on the spot, motionless with surprise, the author felt warmth pressing softly against his lips, moulding them to the others mans' as if it were intentional as if he were awake. And blinking himself back into his rational mindset, the only thing that appeared at all different about the sleeping Napoleon was that he had seemingly kissed him, the soft breaths now drifting through his nose in place of his mouth.

An odd need to refrain from disturbing the other, despite the current situation, reared its head, Arthur still motionless and allowing the kiss to linger on for the moment, feeling the tender warmth spread with every faint shift of the lips against his. Though only a few seconds passed by, they felt stretched out, each feeling like a minute until the gentle lips gradually parted from his own.

And indeed, the man was still sleeping, lying there much as he had been with an angelic, peaceful expression. Had he kissed him while sound asleep? Really? As odd as it seemed, the soldier made no move to correct Arthur's thoughts. Quite the opposite, he only furthered the theory by remaining unconscious.

Quietly lifting a hand to his face, the author scratched the tip of his finger along his brow in resigned curiosity, fully aware that he'd be unable to inquire unless the man was awake. But then that almost meant that he would have to interrupt the angelic mans' slumber.

Sighing through his nose, Arthur let his smile return, almost visibly teasing as he planned to investigate until the other was about ready to either clip him or leave the room unprompted.

"Napoleon," he'd called softly, his voice but a whisper for his first attempt, the second call being a tad higher in volume, but no less gentle as it was a wake-up call rather than a blearing horn sounding the call for war. He was unsure of whether the soldier had woken up to that, but it wasn't hard to imagine if it were true.

His third call had done the trick, soft lids groggily uncovering the light teal irises beneath, unfocused, disoriented by sleep as they glanced around tiredly before finally drifting to Arthur's face, gazes meeting.

"Good morning," the author greeted politely, his head tilting much akin to a pure and curious puppy. Even while lost in his morning grogginess the man still upheld that angelic air, appearing almost as innocent as a real Angel would. How was it that this person specifically could be compared to such a being?

"Arthur," the mans' spoke peered through his slightly distracting thoughts, the more awake of the two letting his smile grow into a grin while his gaze became a tad more mischievous and pointed, expected in a sense and it appeared that even the soldier could read him, "What is it?" his tired tone had steeled, a guarded air taking over and disturbing the peaceful atmosphere. The Angel had become a well-trained soldier.

"I've come to realize as to why Isaac had requested that another resident wake you," the entertained Englishman continued smiling, is own tone giving away his telltale curiosity. The deep sigh that followed, a yawn following that, he watched as the man lifted a hand and felt it press against his shoulder, Arthur feeling the pressure and prompting.

"I kissed you?" Napoleon replied with tired exasperation, the question not sounding like a question as the author situated himself on the edge of the mattress again, his gaze never leaving the Frenchman,

"You did. And not only me, Isaac too it seems," the Englishman let a soft chuckle slip, a hand resting against the mattress while watching the other shift under the covers until his shoulder blades were propped against the pillows, the hand he'd used to move the author lifting to his face to rub the sleep from his sharp and distinct eyes.

"I don't remember," it was almost as if he'd spoke those words to himself rather than to Arthur. As amusing as it was disappointing, the author highly doubted that he would forget that kiss in the near future.