Neville doesn’t think he has any words left. It’s been a long day … week … month. It has been, he decides, a very long existence. There is a bone deep weariness settling in, and he thinks he needs a holiday. Or, at the very least, one whole day where there is nothing that reminds him of the war, of being at school, of being terrified all the time.
He also knows he isn’t going to get that. So he mechanically convinces the shower that it does want to give him some hot water, pulls of his clothes, stands under it for the three minutes it grudgingly tells him he can have, and then puts on his pajamas.
And then he stands, at the side of his bed. Just looking at the pack he needs to put together. Supplies he needs to shrink so he can take them wherever he gets sent tomorrow, the warm jumper he might not need, and the suncream he probably won’t need, but always takes with him. Because, one day, he might get sent to a planet where there is actual sun, and warmth and he will just burn, like a fucking lobster, because he’s only seen damp planets, with rain, and overcast conditions or the inside of this sodding spaceship for a year.
He’s still stood there, folding things slowly when he hears the “swish-clunk-thick” of the door opening and closing, and he makes a mental note to ask Lavender if she can do something with it on her next repair round. He doesn’t bother turning around. It can’t be anyone dangerous because the alarms would have gone off, and he’d have felt it in that tickle up his spine. Plus he’s so tired that even if it was someone dangerous he doesn’t trust himself to summon his wand, or do anything other than cry out for help.
Two arms come sneaking round his middle and that ohsofamiliar scent creeps into his nostrils as someone presses their body against his back, kisses his neck and then drops their head on his shoulder. “Why are you still awake?” Draco says sounding fond, and a little annoyed.
“I’m too tired to sleep.” Neville finds the words escaping his mouth without him thinking about them. “You haven’t been here. The bed’s too big.”
Draco huffs a laugh into the crease of Neville’s neck. “You really are tired. That bed is barely big enough for one eleven year old, let alone two twenty-three year olds who both had growth spurts four years ago.” Neville knows that Draco understands though, because he flicks his wand and the pack moves over to a chair, and the sheets fold down. He rubs Neville’s shoulders soothingly, and then turns him around and pushes him into a sitting position. “Get under the covers, and stay there.” Draco says as he presses the door panel for the bathroom.
When he gets back to the room, Neville is at least lying down on the bed, but he hasn’t pulled the covers up over him. He’s shifted over to the side by the wall, so Draco can slide in easily. And, if Draco is being honest, because he’s been kicked in his sleep so many times that he knows Draco won’t sleep unless he has an easy escape route.
Draco slides in, and pulls the covers up, whispering a soft charm that makes them feel less like military-issue scratchy blankets from hell and more like the duvet of his dreams. The charm won’t last more than an hour but that should be all that’s needed. Neville turns to him, and shoves his face into Draco’s shoulder, letting one arm slip down so he can rest a hand on Draco’s hip. If they weren’t both so tired it would be a lovely come on, and Draco thinks he could probably convince himself that he was up for sex if he had three caffeine pills and enough energy. But, as it is, they both need sleep, and the comfort of being entangled with each other. He smiles, contentedly, to himself as he drifts down into sleep and feels Neville relaxing in his arms. Their lives may be excruciatingly hard and made of stupid levels of terror, but, right now, in this room, in this bed, they have the comfort of arms wrapped around them and a soft duvet.
Draco and Neville, tired warzone snuggling, vague au, pg
He also knows he isn’t going to get that. So he mechanically convinces the shower that it does want to give him some hot water, pulls of his clothes, stands under it for the three minutes it grudgingly tells him he can have, and then puts on his pajamas.
And then he stands, at the side of his bed. Just looking at the pack he needs to put together. Supplies he needs to shrink so he can take them wherever he gets sent tomorrow, the warm jumper he might not need, and the suncream he probably won’t need, but always takes with him. Because, one day, he might get sent to a planet where there is actual sun, and warmth and he will just burn, like a fucking lobster, because he’s only seen damp planets, with rain, and overcast conditions or the inside of this sodding spaceship for a year.
He’s still stood there, folding things slowly when he hears the “swish-clunk-thick” of the door opening and closing, and he makes a mental note to ask Lavender if she can do something with it on her next repair round. He doesn’t bother turning around. It can’t be anyone dangerous because the alarms would have gone off, and he’d have felt it in that tickle up his spine. Plus he’s so tired that even if it was someone dangerous he doesn’t trust himself to summon his wand, or do anything other than cry out for help.
Two arms come sneaking round his middle and that ohsofamiliar scent creeps into his nostrils as someone presses their body against his back, kisses his neck and then drops their head on his shoulder. “Why are you still awake?” Draco says sounding fond, and a little annoyed.
“I’m too tired to sleep.” Neville finds the words escaping his mouth without him thinking about them. “You haven’t been here. The bed’s too big.”
Draco huffs a laugh into the crease of Neville’s neck. “You really are tired. That bed is barely big enough for one eleven year old, let alone two twenty-three year olds who both had growth spurts four years ago.” Neville knows that Draco understands though, because he flicks his wand and the pack moves over to a chair, and the sheets fold down. He rubs Neville’s shoulders soothingly, and then turns him around and pushes him into a sitting position. “Get under the covers, and stay there.” Draco says as he presses the door panel for the bathroom.
When he gets back to the room, Neville is at least lying down on the bed, but he hasn’t pulled the covers up over him. He’s shifted over to the side by the wall, so Draco can slide in easily. And, if Draco is being honest, because he’s been kicked in his sleep so many times that he knows Draco won’t sleep unless he has an easy escape route.
Draco slides in, and pulls the covers up, whispering a soft charm that makes them feel less like military-issue scratchy blankets from hell and more like the duvet of his dreams. The charm won’t last more than an hour but that should be all that’s needed. Neville turns to him, and shoves his face into Draco’s shoulder, letting one arm slip down so he can rest a hand on Draco’s hip. If they weren’t both so tired it would be a lovely come on, and Draco thinks he could probably convince himself that he was up for sex if he had three caffeine pills and enough energy. But, as it is, they both need sleep, and the comfort of being entangled with each other. He smiles, contentedly, to himself as he drifts down into sleep and feels Neville relaxing in his arms. Their lives may be excruciatingly hard and made of stupid levels of terror, but, right now, in this room, in this bed, they have the comfort of arms wrapped around them and a soft duvet.