It was Sunday, the sunrise coming through the window, almost blinding you as you woke up, exhausted. Only empty cups of coffee dumped in the trashcan and papers were with you.

You had overworked yourself again, which he didn't like.

Frey made eye contact with you, as he stood up from the bed, that creaked at the loss of weight, before he kissed you on the forehead and cupped your face in his soft hands.

"How many coffees did you even drink last night?" He asked.