[ Harry is a dead weight, unresponsive to all stimulus short of another apocalyptic scenario. It's a far cry from his usual sleeping patterns, light and sporadic as they are. He tucks his face in against John's neck and sprawls about his body, gradually winding his limbs wherever the hell they will fit, heedless of the state he's left John in, or what the morning might bring.
-- what the morning brings is sunlight. Damnable, noisy sunlight that splits his head in two and reminds him that he's not in the dark little cave that he claims is a livable space. It causes Harry to shove the heels of his hands into his eyes and whine, twisting his body around until he can wedge himself under the table that had hosted their dinner mere hours ago. There's shadow there, that's better. He even grabs for what's covering his shoulders, dragging it up over his face as he curses: ] Empty fucking night!
[ It's John's jacket. And there's a faint, confused warble from Harry as he shoves it back at arm's length, perplexed by how it got there. Until he remembers why his neck aches, and why he's missing his shirt, and why it tastes sweet when he runs his tongue over his lips. Carefully wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift hood to keep out the majority of light and noise, he begins to fumble around on the floor, looking for his shirt. ]
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timeasmymeasure
precious stupid boys, uUGHHH!
Date: 2012-11-05 05:25 am (UTC)-- what the morning brings is sunlight. Damnable, noisy sunlight that splits his head in two and reminds him that he's not in the dark little cave that he claims is a livable space. It causes Harry to shove the heels of his hands into his eyes and whine, twisting his body around until he can wedge himself under the table that had hosted their dinner mere hours ago. There's shadow there, that's better. He even grabs for what's covering his shoulders, dragging it up over his face as he curses: ] Empty fucking night!
[ It's John's jacket. And there's a faint, confused warble from Harry as he shoves it back at arm's length, perplexed by how it got there. Until he remembers why his neck aches, and why he's missing his shirt, and why it tastes sweet when he runs his tongue over his lips. Carefully wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift hood to keep out the majority of light and noise, he begins to fumble around on the floor, looking for his shirt. ]