With a soft sigh Morgan rolls onto his stomach, stretching an arm out beside him, intent on resting it over the shoulders of his bed mate but it falls to the mattress with a muffled thump. Startled by the sudden force on his limb his eyes open, blinking in the warm glow emitted by the nightlight plugged into the outlet opposite his side of the bed.

Forcing himself to sit up his attention is caught by the sound of a drawer being opened and closed roughly from across the room and another being tugged in quick succession. Hand over his brow, Morgan makes a conscious effort to clear the film from his eyes and focus them on the figure hunched over the dresser.

Spencer has always been thin, he tries to assure himself as he takes in his form, but whereas his body prior to - Hankel - was indicative of a natural slenderness, his present appearance causes Morgan to feel almost sick with worry. Reid is gaunt; pale pale skin drawn taut over the entirety of his body which is currently floating in a thick, woolen sweater that Fran sent for him after she heard the news. Heard what had happened in Georgia. Heard what Spencer had endured. Heard the raw pain in her son's voice as he choked out an explanation. Morgan knows that if he were to pull the sweater over Reid's head and run his hands over his torso, he would be able to distinguish each bump and dip of the other man's ribs and vertebrae, feel the concave stomach, pinch his side and come up with no excess skin whatsoever. He's done it before.

Reid's clearly looking for something specific, rifling through the drawer impatiently - he has been increasingly impatient as of late, a trait that alternates with fatigue - maybe everyday commonalities simply aren't engaging to him anymore, resulting in indifferent tendencies. Morgan's not sure. There are number of things he's not sure of but before he distracts himself too much, he needs to return his attention to Reid.

Slipping from the bed Morgan pads over to join Reid at the dresser, loosening the neckline of his shirt as he proceeds. He's not trying to be quiet, neither appreciate the shock that is sometimes derived from a soft approach so he clears his throat in warning.


Reid doesn't turn around, he obviously heard the other stirring and is unsurprised by the accompaniment at the wooden storage space. His hands, his elegant hands are dry and red and catch on the fabric he's digging through but he doesn't seem to notice, just keeps searching.

"What are you looking for, Spencer?" Morgan tries a more direct approach in the hopes that it will warrant a verbal response, some sort of indication as to what the problem is. He doesn't question the fact that there is an issue, otherwise Reid wouldn't have gotten up. He's not the sort to concern himself with trivialities, especially when they're both aware of how exhausted the other is.

"I" he begins, hands stilling as he keeps his gaze angled downward. "I can't find my socks."

The drawer is full of socks, a multitude of patterns and colours. Morgan realizes it's not that simple. It never is with Reid.

"Which ones do you want?" He aligns his upper arm so it's resting against Reid's.

"The purple ones I got about a month ago." Morgan nods. There had been a sale at a local clothing warehouse and they'd come across a pair with a high thermal capacity, selecting a gray set and a purple one so Reid could mismatch them. They had quickly become a favourite and Morgan thought he might have figured out why.

"You know what? I just folded those this evening with some other laundry and didn't bring 'em upstairs yet. Be back in a sec, okay?" Reid gave his head a quick bob by means of acknowledgement, then leans, waiting, against the sturdy frame of the dresser.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from the arm of the couch, Morgan takes the stairs two at a time, wanting to return in a quick fashion. "Here we go." He removes the socks from under a pair of his and hands them to Reid who eagerly accepts and moves to sit on the edge of the bed for balance while Morgan puts the other garments away. Sliding the drawer shut, Morgan turns to find that Reid has already slipped them on and is just looking down at his feet. In contemplation? Hesitation? Anticipation? Again, Morgan's not sure.

Sinking down onto the mattress next to Reid, Morgan asks quietly "your feet are really cold again, huh?"

Reid exhales, a weary sigh. Pauses briefly before replying. "Yes. It's as though I haven't quite been able to rid them of the chill after" - voice catches in his throat slightly - "after Tobias. I just feel so cold. And not only in my feet, you know? My whole being feels frozen, mind and body alike." He trails off, resting his head against Morgan's shoulder like he's having difficulty even keeping himself upright.

"I do know, Spencer. I get it, get not knowing how to keep going." It's something he's very familiar with.

Morgan glances back at the bed. "Why don't we lie down, okay? I know how tired you are, Spencer." Reid makes a soft sound of agreement, shifting himself back and easing his head onto his pillow, gazing at Morgan through half-closed eyes, waiting. With a small smile, Morgan unfolds the extra blanket at the foot of the bed onto Reid, tucking it along his sides and around his feet, squeezing them slightly. Then he moves to stretch out alongside the other man, now able to wrap his arm around him unlike when he woke up. Their hands link against Reid's chest, just holding. Morgan can feel Reid's heart beating against his hand just as Reid can feel Morgan's against his back. Reverberations and breathing. Fatigue and pain. Comfort and quiet. It's simultaneously complex and simple, but for now, it will be enough. Needs to be.