I woke up on the floor, dust motes filtering through a window I hadn't noticed the night before. The sheet he'd taken off the couch was draped over me, but the hardwood floor was unforgiving and cold where it touched my body. I sat up slowly, my head pulsing mildly. I didn't really have a hangover, but I could feel the dregs of alcohol lingering as it worked its way out of my system.

I glanced around the room, barely illuminated by the faint morning sunrise, and saw that Harry was asleep two feet away from me, body twisted at odd angles that didn't look the slightest bit comfortable-- his head rested on his elbow, other arm jammed haphazardly into the foot of the couch, one leg hooked around a chair and the other one almost bent but not quite-- a sheet partially covering his torso.

I stared at him for a minute, taking in the loose and wild strands of brown hair that framed his face, the way his muscled chest rose and fell, and the way the sound of his breathing filled the room, before I slid over to him, resting my head on his chest and listening to his heart beat steadily.

His arm curled around my shoulders, limp and heavy, and I smiled, closing my eyes against the light of the morning. All the thoughts that were swirling, disconnected and ignored, through my mind could be resolved later.

I inhaled deeply, breathing in the twilight and the contentedness and the fumes of possibility, and let myself melt into him.

//