Look, he figured. Karen has toothpicks for bones and Matt is–Matt, and all in all it's not surprising that both of them get cold easily. But it's been a week since they started sharing a bed, and this is the seventh day that Foggy's woken up to two full-grown adults clinging to him like he's an animate space heater.
"Get off," he mutters, not really meaning it. Karen mutters something in her sleep and scoots closer. Her hair smells like the grapefruit shampoo she brought with her at the start of the week. "No, really. I can't feel my arm."
She frowns. He sighs.
"Matt."
"Mm?"
"Wake up, go make coffee."
"You do it." Matt is still mostly asleep, but even mostly-asleep Matt is kind of a shithead.
"I would," Foggy says, very reasonably, "if you guys'd let me up."
Matt smiles, eyes still closed. "I guess we should wait for Karen."
Foggy sighs again. It's eight in the morning and the windows are covered with frost. His friends (partners? whatever) seem to have mistaken him for a portable radiator. He's going to have to wait for Karen to open her eyes, exclaim at the time, and accidentally elbow him in the face trying to roll out of bed. Matt is going to almost burn the coffee, and he is going to almost burn the toast. This is his life now.
[Mini Fill]: Matt/Karen/Foggy, puppy pile
Look, he figured. Karen has toothpicks for bones and Matt is–Matt, and all in all it's not surprising that both of them get cold easily. But it's been a week since they started sharing a bed, and this is the seventh day that Foggy's woken up to two full-grown adults clinging to him like he's an animate space heater.
"Get off," he mutters, not really meaning it. Karen mutters something in her sleep and scoots closer. Her hair smells like the grapefruit shampoo she brought with her at the start of the week. "No, really. I can't feel my arm."
She frowns. He sighs.
"Matt."
"Mm?"
"Wake up, go make coffee."
"You do it." Matt is still mostly asleep, but even mostly-asleep Matt is kind of a shithead.
"I would," Foggy says, very reasonably, "if you guys'd let me up."
Matt smiles, eyes still closed. "I guess we should wait for Karen."
Foggy sighs again. It's eight in the morning and the windows are covered with frost. His friends (partners? whatever) seem to have mistaken him for a portable radiator. He's going to have to wait for Karen to open her eyes, exclaim at the time, and accidentally elbow him in the face trying to roll out of bed. Matt is going to almost burn the coffee, and he is going to almost burn the toast. This is his life now.
He supposes there are worse fates.