You’re half asleep when you hear the front door open, the quiet thud of a board being propped back up against the wall.

The sun’s barely creeping over the horizon, peeking through your bedroom window like it’s got a personal vendetta against you.

You can hear quiet footsteps approach, and then the door to your bedroom creaks open slowly—Harrison peeks his head in like he doesn’t also live here.

You glance over at him—barely awake, half-squinting in the direction of the door.

“Oh, cool, you’re awake,” he says softly, like it’s the best part about his day.

Harrison crosses the room, being careful to avoid any obstacles in the low light. He manages to make it to the bed successfully—almost successfully.

A knee is tucked up onto the mattress beside you, his weight dipping the fabric as he settles. He reaches a hand out, brushing a few stray hairs away from your face; his fingers are still a little cool from the water.

“Waves were perfect,” he murmurs. “Like, ridiculously perfect. One of those mornings that feels like it was made for me, y’know? Skies were all pink and orange, water was warm.” He trails off there, brushing through your hair again, a mindless gesture.

And with that, he brings himself up onto the mattress, curling up beside you, an arm wrapped securely around you. He smells like sun and salt and that coconut SPF you bought him last week.

“Kept thinking about you, though,” he adds, tone a little softer.