The Washington sky was grey, rain pitter-pattering on the window as the light filtered through the half-drawn curtains. As he slowly gained consciousness, he rolls over, face still buried in the pillow, and reaches for you. When he finds it empty, he sleepily looks around, wondering where you'd gone.

He rolled over, inhaling your scent from the sheets beside him on your side of the bed. Eventually, he sat up with a long-suffering sigh. Fox wasn't really a morning person, but his partner, unfortunately, was. He didn't feel like finding a top, so he didn't.

The moment his feet touched the floor, his nose wrinkled. Cold hardwood floors against bare feet. He heaved himself to his feet, padding towards the kitchen to go and look for you, and also probably complain about cold floors.

You could tell it was him by the rhythm of his footsteps, a habit that would probably never leave. His hands slid around your hips as he came up behind you, pressing his face against your neck. "You didn't wake me," he murmured, rubbing your hip.