Fashionably Late

His breath hissed between his teeth as the blanket was oh so rudely ripped from his grasp and he was left exposed (though, curiously, clothed) to the cold air of the morning. He pushed himself up to lean into his pillows, arms crossed defiantly across his chest as the most sour of scowls scrunched his face. He brushed off the attempt to scare him - if that’s what it was - with a wrinkle of his nose and a roll of his eyes as Cyrille loomed closer.

“You are already punishing me, my darling, you’re still here,” He sang, a single finger pressing into Cyrille’s nose as he pushed him back just enough for Atreus to slip his legs over the side of the bed. His toes curled into the cold floor, little breaths huffing from his lips as he stood. He swayed on his feet as another wave of pain pierced his temples, his brow pinching together momentarily before he forced himself to move.

“Again, I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about,” Atreus sighed as he crossed the room, carelessly pulling his shirt over his head. Coming back home this early was a mistake, clearly, and perhaps the thought made him fling his closet door open a little too hard; the various artworks on the wall shuttering from the force. Atreus brushed it off with nothing more than a breath, lashes fluttering as he scanned the various outfit options.

“I have been careful. I always am. This is not the first time I’ve done this, you know,” He muttered as he reached for a shirt- soft velvet, royal blue, with buttons so sparse they were pointless beyond his ribcage. Comfortable, but still drew some looks. His favorite. “So, if you have a problem with something I did,” He continued as he pulled the shirt over his head, struggling for a moment to get his arms through the sleeves, “You are going to have to give me a little more context, sweetheart. I’m not, nor will I ever be, interested in guessing games.”

He pulled the shirt straight, running his hands across its gentle fabric to smoothen out any wrinkles. An arm outstretched, he straightened the cuff and shook out the sleeve. “Besides, I figured you’d have been glad to be rid of me for a few days...” He paused, lifting his gaze then to meet Cyrille’s with a small pout on his lips, brow arching with his feigned, regretful little coo, “Unless you missed me, darling, which, for that, I deeply apologize.”