Barnaby Brooks, Jr.

The light filtering through the window is too bright for Barnaby's blue eyes, sticky and sensitive as they open reluctantly and he drags himself to sitting in bed. He's still dressed in what he stumbled to bed with, a plain white t-shirt a little too big because they'd only bought one package to suit both himself and Kotetsu; boxers that are the same. He groans, groping across the bed in search of his glasses, unintentionally rousing the other man beside him.

They'd shared the bed, he remembers, because neither of them had been willing to take the couch, in the state they were in. Which, Barnaby recalls, had been fairly drunk.

Pulling himself to standing, he crosses to the bedroom window and turns the handle to open the blinds further, yellow-gold light filtering in. It's red enough light that Barnaby knows it's ... almost evening, actually. It would irritate him to discover, normally, but they hadn't gotten in until very early, having stopped for clothing and groceries and whatever else that could be fitted into a bag, in their state, and dragged to Barnaby's apartment.

Barnaby doesn't remember much from the night. Only a few things stand out. Mostly, he distinctly remembers Kotetsu plopping an unfamiliar, brightly colored bill onto a counter and asking the clerk to 'bring booze.'

He presses a palm to his forehead. It feels too warm

"Rise and shine," he calls out to his partner.