Spoilers/Timeline: None/Set in the future

A/N: Hopefully my awful day is nowhere to be seen here. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Suits doesn't belong to me. Title taken from Florence + the Machine's Cosmic Love.

He wakes with a start, the ever present hum of the city and the warmth of his sheets almost immediately lulling him back to sleep.

Almost.

Then he realizes there's no leg tangled with his, no arm tugging covers away from him, as there has been the past few nights.

Oh hell, who is he kidding, it's more like weeks.

It's relatively new to him (to them) though, this semblance of a routine, having someone to share a bottle of wine and fight with over who knows the most crossword answers.

So when it finally sinks in that she's not next to him, he's surprised. Taken aback by the sheer fear settling in the pit of his stomach.

Pushing himself out of bed, he runs his hand through his hair and shuffles towards the kitchen. As expected, the lights are off in the bathroom and guest room and if he knows her—

He lets out a breath he doesn't even realize he's been holding as his eyes unconsciously scan the couch and find her curled up at one end. She's wearing his shirt, arms crossed over her chest as the TV flickers softly before her. The light dances over her shoulder, plays in her wild hair, leaving him a little breathless.

Ok, a lot breathless.

So much so that it takes him a good five minutes before he figures out she's watching QVC.

(He didn't even know he got QVC.)

"So..." He settles on the couch next to her, chuckling as her arms loosen around her and the corner of her mouth lifts, the only indicators that she already knew he was there. "Are we in the market for an electric smoker? Should I make room in the kitchen? It might look good by the wine—"

"You always have to ruin your Christmas gifts, don't you?"

He just shrugs, laughing fully this time as she shakes her head in fake annoyance and pretends to be enthralled by the show host removing a rack of ribs from the smoker.

The TV volume fades even more and they sit in a comfortable silence as she pushes off the arm of the couch and curls into him, the hem of his shirt riding high on her thigh.

"I haven't been sleeping well." His hand stills on her hip, fingers flexing against the worn material. "It's just... There's organizing all the new testimony for the Frond case, attempting to get you that meeting with the state attorney general, trying to divert Louis' increased attention on Mike, and..."

It's the first he can remember hearing her ramble.

Ever.

Like if she just keeps talking she won't have to say what's really bothering her.

(Not that work isn't a factor; it has been one crisis after another lately.)

"You're worried about your dad." He feels her nod against him and exhales slowly. "Me too."

Pulling her closer, he blindly gropes for that hideous throw her mother had insisted he keep near the couch if they were going to make a habit of working such late nights. Somehow it had made its way from the office to his place and... well, he'd just never took it back.

His fingers finally find the end and he tugs it forward, draping it across them. He squirms around a little, trying to get comfortable, and he practically can see the look on her face: the narrowed eyes and lips pressed together in that sexy little smirk.

She's still tense though, he can feel it rolling off her in waves, so he leans to the side and... perfect...

"Really, a travel tumbler that automatically seals is the best they can come up with? It doesn't make your cappuccino and schedule your haircuts, too?"

"It would never rest scheduling all your hair appointments." Smiling, she moves further into his embrace, head resting on his chest. "It is the nicest thing I've seen in the last half hour though."

Grinning, he stretches out and repeats the product number to himself ten or fifteen times so he can order it to go with the first edition of To The Lighthouse he got her for her birthday.

(Only three weeks to go and he's not entirely sure how he hasn't already tipped her off in some way.)

Watching the shadows shift on the wall, he presses a soft kiss to her shoulder and grabs the remote, wondering if there are any west coast games on. He's about five channels away from QVC when her hand pulls the blanket closer to her.

Turning the set off, he closes his eyes, his arms tightening around her as her breathing evens and she falls asleep.