After a while, Angel forced himself up and stretched widely, going around to his closet and pulling bedclothes out. Pale flannel, red and black, it was warm but not too warm. He slipped into his bathroom and showed quickly, taking care of that before morning came so that his hair could dry before class. It had come to be a habit while at home, since even in the coldest weather he had to join his father outside to take care of the animals and one couldn't have wet hair and be more subject to the concept of illness. With brushed teeth, hair in a tight ponytail, and his bedclothes on, Angel came back out and put tomorrow's clothing out, draping them on his soft rocking chair and slid under his blankets and quilt, nuzzling his pillow and glancing across the room.

William seemed restless. He made a note to share some sleeping remedies with the other man, though that was his last thought before he curled into a tight, small ball and fell into a deep, dead-silent sleep. Even the sun that shone through the crack in his curtain didn't wake him---not until the clock rang and his hand darted out, slapping it into silence and his eyes opened, wide and awake, as they did every morning.