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Somedays Matt gets out of the shower and there is a seal burrowed in a lump under the covers, breathing steady and slow, save for a snuffle or snort as comfort is found against the silk sheets and dense mattress. He dresses in only a pair of boxers before he brushes his teeth, knowing by the absent buzz that he hadn’t bothered with the bathroom lights to begin with. There’s an indignant noise to his grin as he tosses the covers back, the lump in the bed all flailing tail and slapping fins until Matt is snapped at, short and sharp teeth a physical command of Foggy’s usual “knock that shit off Matthew, get in bed.” The creature never passes up the chance on revenge, waiting for Matt to get settled before he shuffles closer and presses closer with a large and cold nose that lands with impressive accuracy to slide up Matt’s ribs before burrowing until the warmth of his underarm. He bites off a swear as his muscles flinch in response, but Foggy only shoves himself closer, a flipper landing heavily over Matt’s middle, coupled with a damp sigh against his armpit.Foggy had once told him that sometimes it was just too much to be a person, talking and meetings, human responsibilities and expectations. Somedays it was just an escape to come back to their apartment and pull on his seal skin where his only worry was thinking about what kind of fish he wanted and whether or not he wanted to crawl into the tub.He sleeps like that some nights, just as solid and warm, if not warmer than the nights he sleeps beside Matt in nothing but bare skin. The next morning though he is all too eager to share his affection for him in both words and body, pressing against Matt’s muscled side with a decadent stretch that makes him want to purr as his coat falls back from his face. Matt catches on quick those mornings, fingers digging in against his shoulders so Foggy can feel the touch on his body, as well as the echo of it from his seal skin. These mornings are treasured, heart hammering pleasure burning so bight in his human limbs that Matt tells him he can see the glow surrounding his bones. The Foggy he receives after those nights and mornings is like a shard of glass from the sea, soft and smooth from the help of ocean brine and strong currents as it breaches the surf to land upon the damp sand of a beach. It’s almost as if it helps him feel more content in his skin, no hesitation as he kisses Matt at the edge of a cross walk.None of that compares to the Nelson’s small sea side cottage, where the air always blows strong with salt and the water is usually freezing. But the joy Foggy radiates makes up for the sopping wet hugs he only pretends to resist. He sits on the beach a lot during those weekend visits, sometimes in the sunshine with a beer, others bundled up with a coat and thermos of coffee. Foggy’s father sits and chats with him in that surreal bubble they have both managed to find themselves engulfed in.Then Foggy will come running up from the surf, dripping wet and coat heavy in his arms as he presses cold salty lips to Matt’s while his mother isn’t far behind him to greet her husband in the same fashion. Matt will trace Foggy’s smile with a hand that still shakes sometimes, with that realization that Foggy chose him. Those are the times when Matt thinks the only thing that could make it better, was if they had rings of gold or silver to show the world a fraction of what their beating hearts sing to him.