The morning was crisp, lightly chilled, and the sun dispersed gently over the smooth hills, and busy vineyards. The night prior had been a bit too flashy, and a bit too loud. The silence inside the home now was welcomed, and highly appreciated. Birds chirped outside of the closed window, and a car radio was playing, maybe a bit too noisy for 10 am, but it wasn't easy to pick up on the clamor, inside anyway.

The silence was broken by quiet humming, and the sounds of a scarf being delicately folded, and knotted as a man dressed himself for the day, and observed the world outside his room.
Young children ran around a tree, and squealed in delight "Balise!" While a young teenager opened the mail box perched at the end of a driveway, and placed a small package, and several envelopes inside before close it, and raising the red marker on the side. She smiled lightly as she playfully removed a toddler from her leg.

Intertwined with the light footsteps ascending down the stairway, is the throaty snore of a red and black paisley bundle situated on the couch, and the gentle cooing of a boiling kettle the next room over. There is a light scent of flowers; stems of lilac, and navy morning glories loosely wrapped around the oddly shaped hand blown glass vase. The radio clicks on, an alarm, but it's static speaking is only an indicator that the volume had been turned down purposefully for extended sleep. It was Sunday, not many people had work to attend to that day, anyway. It spoke again, and Francis strolled over to the table and unplugged the wire from the back the small, handheld noise maker. He moved to the couch.

The bundle shifts a bit, as a weight indents the cushion, only to pull top of the blanket over a sleeping head. Fingers run through the matted blonde hair, and a voice breaks hushfully.

"Arthur?"

The corners of his lips pulled upwards into a bright smile, and the hand in the messy locks hovered.
A pointer finger tapped Arthur's nose twice, and Francis laughed heartily as the once peaceful face scrunched up, and large brows furled.

"Temps de se réveille, Mon cher."

The man below snorted, and lazily grabbed at the lowered blanket and pulled.
His attempt to re-cover his face failed desperately, but was successful the second time with the help of a cheerful Frenchman.

The bundle mumbled to him in lazy French, and the latter chucked again, and walked away to tend to the whistling pot.

But, as he stood in the doorway stirring a hot cup of Earl Grey, he knew he heard the sweet laughter of his companion seeping through the paisley cocoon.