He doesn't quite know what to do with himself when Kotetsu isn't around.

It's the first time in months that the man hasn't been at his hip, and as a bonus, he leaves for the weekend in a hurry. Barnaby finds himself in his townhouse all the same, sighing at the mess the idiot has left behind, and decides to take it upon himself to pick up at the very least.

It doesn't take long, unfortunately, and Barnaby is left without distraction once more, veritably stranded with Kotetsu's bedroom, tired and bored and lonely. A nap would do him some good, he supposes. It's evening, he feels worn even though he hasn't done a thing, and thus Barnaby thoughtlessly strips down to his boxers to collapse into Kotetsu's bed.

In throwing the sheets back, he finds a tangled, discarded shirt, wrinkled from what was undoubtedly Kotetsu's inability to put his laundry away – that, and a tie, tangled up and half-knotted. Barnaby fiddles with it as he huffs out a breath, presses his face into Kotetsu's pillow, inhales and exhales and sighs as he smells nothing but his lover's cologne, his shampoo, the bay rum of his aftershave.

With his fingers hooked into the knotted tie, he effectively loosens it and untangles it, all while pulling the shirt closer and eventually wriggling his way into it. It stays loose around his shoulders, unbuttoned and haphazard, and Barnaby likes the extra measure of warmth – the extra measure of Kotetsu seemingly wrapped around him. Faint musk and citrus and a splash of clean, wispy soap fills his nose and Barnaby exhales another, shuddering sigh, curling up within the sheets, within Kotetsu's shirt, dragging the tie to his lips to ghost a kiss as if it were Kotetsu himself.

It's silly, perhaps, but like this, with Kotetsu having been gone a scarce two hours, Barnaby is already wondering how and if he'll last the weekend.