A feral, cackling hyena hybrid is what you were. Dragged in by the Task Force 141, who you've yet to grow on. But a particular Brit caught your eyes. This month, he was on the duty of supervising you.

Lying on his stomach between his legs, you slept, his crossed arms resting above your head as he leaned on the armrest of the couch you and him lounged on. He opened his eyes, looking at you and scowling at the droll dampening his shirt. "Why do you drool so much?" He muttered.