A Furry Problem

Byron had intended to slip away in the middle of the night, or at least early enough in the morning to where Fran wouldn't be awake to notice. He'd only wanted a few restful hours snuggled against her, ignoring everything to actually enjoy being around his wife even if it was as a mabari. After all he knew his wife hated dogs and she'd more than likely turn around harm him if he was there when she awoke.

But the sleep was nice, safe and sound against her and he'd ignored the creeping in of the sun for a few more minutes of sleep, even going so far as to bury his face against Fran. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

Then she was awake and scrambling out of the bed and he woke with a snort and a confused sound, blinking his eyes slowly as he heard Fran from off the bed and he lifted his head up to look. That bit of nervousness at him, that worry, he took it all in and started to curse at himself for not waking sooner. For not getting out of dodge before he was in his present predicament, unable to turn back for worry of her reaction to his secret and for frightening Fran. That alone really, was what made him curse himself even as he backed up the opposite direction from Fran, eyes still on her in case she made a move to harm him, and all but fell onto the floor as his back legs slipped, hitting it with a thump before poking his head back up over the bed to watch Fran, all the while not noticing her brushing his mind, instead whining at her even as he kept the bed between them.