It has a lot to do with the weather, honestly.
It's humid and muggy and damp when he first wakes up, but that quickly devolves into rain, rolling thunder and fat, heavy raindrops smacking against the screen of an open window. And it's still hot – enough that Barnaby dreads his normal, steam-ridden morning shower, and skips it, even, because the prospect of more heat sinking into his bones is something he dreads.
That doesn't help his hair, though.
All of it is a mess – curls at all angles, ruffled and mussed from sleep but most of all, the weather. Normally, it doesn't take much to fix it. His curls are used to going in certain places, and he's used to putting them there, but this morning, it seems as if there is a conspiracy of sorts against him, as if every strand and curl is as huffy and put out as his own mood.
Briefly, Barnaby contemplates hurling his comb into the glass mirror in front of him, but the thought is banished when affectionate, gentle hands brush against his neck with calloused fingertips, twisting around one unruly curl and tugging lightly before a kiss is planted amongst the current mess of his hair.
"You look cute when you just roll out of bed."
Quite suddenly, Barnaby finds his hair to be the least of all things to worry about, and instead, his mind is on how to better perfect that fried rice recipe to make Kotetsu happy.