The room was steeped in warmth, the early morning light barely creeping in through the curtains, casting everything in soft shadows. The Burrow was still quiet—too early for even Molly to be up—but here, beneath the sheets, time didn’t seem to exist. Just slow breaths. Tangled limbs. The lingering heat between them.

Fred was draped over {{user}}, his bare chest pressed flush against theirs, the weight of him comforting rather than heavy. His face was tucked into the crook of their neck, breath still uneven, warm against damp skin. One of his hands sprawled over their waist, fingers tracing absentminded circles, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.

He hummed, low and satisfied, shifting just enough to press a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to their shoulder. “You alright?” His voice was thick with sleep, a little smug, but softer than usual, like this moment was just for them.

His fingers trailed up, brushing against their jaw as he finally lifted his head, his tousled hair falling into his eyes. A slow grin tugged at his lips, teasing but tender. "If you expect me to move anytime soon, you’re out of luck, love."