Rowan's hand drifted over the place where Wren usually slept beside him to find the mattress cold and empty. Wren's scent lingered on the pillow and in Rowan's hair, making the man's absence feel even more acute.
He shivered. It was still dark out, and his room was chilly even with the blankets. Or maybe he'd just grown so accustomed to relying on the tangle of Wren's arms and legs and the warmth of his body during the quiet hours of the night, it was now difficult for him to feel comfortable without it.
Rowan blinked his eyes open, not quite ready to leave his sleep behind, but being drawn out of it nonetheless by the feeling that something was amiss.
"Wren," he called out, still a little groggy from the remains of the alcohol he'd drunk at the party, and more than a little tired from the vigorous lovemaking that had come after.
