Lucid | G
Behind the soft tuft of hair that had been bumping him throughout the night were the curls and the tendrils of a sleepy, sleepy man who mistook Harry as a pillow when he searched for his last night. And like a kneazle, he rolled over and was snuggled to his chest — which would’ve been endearing if Harry had the morning off.
But he had work and Tom, too.
They were in a predicament: where the latter was too comfy and it’d guilt Harry to wake him up. And it didn’t help that his partner was wound around him like a rope, making it damn impossible to even inch out from the covers. So Harry had a choice — and he’d like to think that there was one: he could either stay here and message Ron that they could meet sometime later, or he could shimmy from the blankets and shake Tom off of him. But if he did that, retaliation would be swift and full of pouting, which was arguably a lot worse than staying here to be snuggled.
So Harry did that: he stayed and if anyone asked, they’d know the reason. As he drowned in the sunlight and the coziness of his partner, hugging him just as loosely after sending a Patronus off.