[attr="class","spiral"] Fernando is not much of a sleeper. He avoids the inevitable like the plague; early to rise, quick to awake. The only exception is when he indulges in either vice: drinking or fucking, and often times the two blur between each other.

That's why he places safeguards in place to accommodate for his misbehavior. It's standard for him to keep a Pokemon outside. He keeps a variety of species that can remain silent or turn invisible, anything that can keep an eye on him during his frequent nights of debauchery. But this time he fucked up.

The feeling of someone else's warmth lulls him into a false sense of comfort. One that's ripped away when her finger lines up against the crook of his skin. It doesn't hurt but the foreign texture is an abrupt slap to his consciousness. It's a faux alarm clock that goes off in his head and it takes the ticklish feeling of her teasing him to melt him back into security.

Fernando grits his teeth to persevere. Anya's touch drives him wild in ways that should've been handled last night.

"Morning."

His own tone lacks the same bite for playtime that hers does. When the sun rises so do business hours. Fernando wears his persona like a well-practiced routine and his voice reflects his deadpan acceptance. Resignation lines the curtness of his answer, his way of deflection to acknowledging just what transpired.

But his actions prove contrary. Like a mismatched child that never knew better, that was never taught how to handle their feelings and aspirations, Fernando rolls over to face her. There's no love or admiration in his expression, but he pulls her hand in to kiss along its edges. His own grasp on feelings and love are as distorted as his two-faced personality.

He only knows how to act and there are results in physical affection.