ｃｈｒｙｓｓｉｅ

ｃｏｌｄ

It was six in the morning, and a lovely grey-tinted light was just barely starting to creep in through the curtains, though Grayson was the only one awake to see it.

It had snowed the night before, leaving a thin layer of dusty white akin to powdered sugar all along the rooftops of London. According to the man on the early morning news, they were to be expecting as much as eight more inches of the stuff, which was a rarity, especially since it was only late November.

(To be completely truthful, the thought of any severe winter weather made Grayson nervous, though he would never admit it to anyone.)

He flicked the telly off, then glanced at his Chryssie, who was sleeping soundly, her head pressed against his chest. The dog (Hermes, as his flower had christened him) was laying at the foot of the bed, his little black nose poking out from underneath a white blanket. His flower was already infatuated with the little thing, and Grayson hated to tell her that they couldn't keep him.

They would have to work something out.

He was leaning over carefully to grab his phone from the bedside table when it started ringing at full volume, nearly giving him a heart attack. Quickly, he snatched it and answered.

"What?" he hissed into the speaker.

"Sorry for the early call, Grayson," his father said through the phone. "I just wanted to tell you that you left some money on the bench at the restaurant when you decided to storm out. It's a couple hundred pounds, and I didn't want you to panic if you found that it was gone."

Grayson inhaled sharply.

"Must have fallen out of my pocket."

"I assumed so," Thaddeus replied, seemingly delighted that Grayson was being civil for once. "Do you want me to just run it up to your hotel room later today?"

"Erm... sure," Grayson replied, figuring that he would be gone most of the day anyway, and therefore would be able to avoid his father's unwanted company. "See you then, maybe."

He hung up before Thaddeus even had the chance to get a goodbye out of his throat, then slipped out of bed while dialing Kingston's number.

As expected, the little nicotine-lover picked up on the third ring, sputtering and breathing heavily. There were no doubts that he had fallen out of his bed in his haste to get to the phone, seeing as it was one of James' off days.

"What the - "

"Rise and shine," Grayson interrupted flatly as he pulled on a shirt. "I need to talk to you."

He groaned into the phone. "You know I love hearing from you, Grayson, but - "

"But what?"

"Are you trying to get me murdered? You almost woke up James. Last time I woke him up on a day when he got to sleep in, he tried to strangle me with a fucking lamp cord."

"Yes. We've already established that he's not a morning person. But I don't want to see James for breakfast in an hour. You, on the other hand..."

"You've got to be joking. Is Chryssie coming?"

"No." he replied, glancing over at his flower briefly. A thin leg hung off the side of the bed, her breathing soft. "She's sleeping."