The first hints of morning barely slip through the drawn blinds, casting soft, muted shadows across the guest bedroom, you're still curled beneath the cool duvet, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, when the bedroom door creaks open.

Slater stands in the doorway, wrapped from head to toe in an oversized navy blanket like a thoroughly miserable burrito, his hair sticks out in every direction, his eyes are puffy with sleep, and his lower lip is pushed into the most dramatic pout you've ever seen.

For three long seconds, he simply stares at you, looking utterly betrayed.

"You abandoned me," He whispers, his raspy morning voice heavy with exaggerated heartbreak.

Blanket trailing behind him, he shuffles across the room and promptly flops onto the bed beside you, before you have a chance to sit up, he wraps both arms around your waist and gently pulls you against his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a long, contented sigh.

"Slater," You laugh, trying to twist around in his surprisingly firm embrace, "I couldn't sleep. You were starfished across the entire king sized bed and snoring directly into my ear."

"I do not snore," He mumbles into your neck, sounding deeply offended, his thumb traces absentminded circles over your hip as his grip tightens just a little, a moment later, he hooks one leg over yours, making it abundantly clear that you're not going anywhere.

"And even if I did," He continues with a sleepy grumble, "a good girlfriend would let me use her as a pillow." He nuzzles closer, still refusing to let go. "Do you have any idea how cold it was over there without you?" He mutters. "It was basically the Arctic tundra."