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The sun hit Merlin's eyes in a ferocious pink bar, blazing in through the window almost horizontally. He steadied himself on the bedpost as he fished for the rest of his clothing on the floor. Between the sleep deprivation and the shakiness of muscles put to unexpected use, he wasn't as quiet about it as he meant to be.
"Merlin," came Arthur's voice, unexpected and rather sharp, and Merlin froze. He turned around with one arm in and one arm out of his jacket to peer at Arthur, who was sitting up in bed squinting back at him. "You realise if you go out like that it'll be like carrying a sign."
Merlin finished shrugging into his jacket and looked down at himself, smoothing down his slightly rumpled shirt. "It's not that bad. I mostly keep my clothes on the floor anyway."
"Yes, I've been meaning to say," Arthur smirked. "But that's not it. Your hair. It's really... obvious."
Bemused, Merlin patted ineffectually at his cowlick, and had to agree that usually the whole mess wasn't quite so wild. At Arthur's insistence he knelt on the edge of the bed and submitted to Arthur's even less effective finger-combing. "What if I want to carry a sign?"
"In that case you probably shouldn't go out at all," Arthur said, quite decisively for so early in the morning, and pulled Merlin straight back into the bed.