Punk Music and Cupcakes (Oliver X Arthur)

Ch. 1 • Kirklands

Arthur loved mornings. That is, when they go his way. He liked to wake up just as the sun began to gently stream through the window onto the soft sheets of his bed. To hear the early songs of birds in the otherwise silent house as he pads his way to the kitchen to begin brewing his favourite tea. As it boils he heads to the little "library" in his guest room, to pick out one of the many new books he has yet to read. The mornings he loved and looked forward to every night consisted of a nice, calming story on the comfortable deck out to the back of his house with the warm cup of tea to wake him.

This was not one of those mornings.

The blond was in a light sleep, per usual for his slow beginnings to the day. He could hear the rustle of his sheets as his hand flexed over them, and could feel the warmth of the rays beaming onto his shoulder and cheek. All was familiar, and all put a happy feeling through the British man. That is, until one tiny detail brought a flood of suspicion. There was a sweet smell drifting into his room, one he definitely knew. The question was, why cupcakes?

It wasn't even eight yet. The early awakening left Arthur's mind groggy as he groaned sleepily and shifted to sit up. He rubbed his eyes open, instantly jumping with a yelp as he seen bright blue eyes right in front of him. Acting on instinct, his hand flashed out to slap the person.

"Ow!"

"Bloody-!"

"Now, now, don't be rash." The owner of the blue eyes frowned as he rubbed the cheek that had taken the blow, while Arthur had no idea how in the world he got in his bed without his knowing. After further inspection, Arthur realized with confusion that the man was strikingly similar to himself. It was honestly freaky.

"Wha... Who the hell are you...?" Arthur cleared his throat before he spoke, seeing as his accent tended to be thicker after first waking. The lookalike pouted, crossing his legs as he sat across from the blond.

"You really are quite rude, aren't you?" The freckled male smiled, to Arthur's surprise, then straightened for better posture and held a hand out in greeting. "Oliver Kirkland! Good morning, poppet!"

Now Arthur was stunned. This was a prank, right? A man who looked almost like a twin to himself with the exact last name? Along with that, the Brit couldn't help but feel slightly offended along with more utter confusion. Oliver called him "poppet". Arthur had only ever heard - and used - the pet name for women...

He hesitantly slid his hand into Oliver's, whose grin widened as he leaned forward eagerly. Arthur leaned back, hitting the headboard lightly. This was all too much for one morning. "Uh... Arthur. Kirkland."

"Splendid!" Oliver clapped his hands before he stood with surprising grace, smiling down at Arthur, who sat baffled in the bed. "Now, I've made cupcakes for you, come along!"

Arthur blinked, his thick eyebrows furrowing. "Excuse me, what are you even doing in my house?" He finally managed to break through the haze of confusion, voicing the question he had in the first place. Oliver's smile fell in the slightest, but he reached for Arthur's wrist to pull him up, though the man struggled in his hold. "No questions right now! It was hard enough to find you, it isn't kind to refuse a treat after all the trouble!"

"Whoa! Wait, you git!" Arthur almost stumbled over his feet when Oliver started pushing him out of his room, his socks sliding on the polished wood of the hallway instead of the cool carpet of his room. Oliver clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You should really learn proper manners, dear. It's not attractive at all to sound like that."

"You should learn not to break into people's bloody houses and harass them!" Arthur spat back, managing to press his hands to the walls to stop them, sending a glare over his shoulder at the strawberry blond. He began to think the freckled man had a lot of nerve to look hurt, but the expression made him feel a little bad for yelling. Then, he felt crazy, because this was like another version of him, that was in his house without permission, let alone hovering over him while he slept. He was conflicted.