"Have I missed it?" asks Aramis from the bedroom doorway, hair sleep mad and cheeks still bearing creases from the pillows. He rubs at bleary eyes, and then again, but when his hands fall away a second time, Athos is still there.

"Hello," says Aramis. Standing in only his boxers, Aramis smiles for the man's equally rumpled, if far more dressed form, and feels himself caught between the urge to pursue Athos and his coffee, or Porthos arching himself all over the floor. "Did you get him to do any, then?" he asks Porthos.