Harry liked it simple.
He always had a fondness for clear explanations and up-front personalities. Complications irritated him. He liked lines to be clear and boundaries to be drawn.
Except when it came to Draco.
The boundaries were all messy when it came to Draco.
They'd been pulling each other's pigtails for what seemed like always, and Harry would be lying to himself if he didn't think he liked it. He loved it.
"Hey," Harry whispered into the rumpled blankets.
The back muscles outlined under Draco's pale skin moved with each breath he took. "Yes?"
Yes, Harry scoffed inwardly. Say 'yeah'.
"Nothing, I just wondered if you were asleep."
"No."
"What's up?"
"In fact, I was trying to sleep, Potter--" (as much as Draco insisted "Potter" was a term of endearment and not a formality, Harry still felt a tug of irritation every time Draco referred to him that way) "--so can you--"
"Shut up?" Harry suggested lightly, but it came out... unlightly.
"Something wrong," Draco murmured, rolling over and looking Harry in the eyes. He didn't phrase it like a question.
"Not really," Harry said, playing with Draco's hair. "You need a haircut."
"It's not long."
"It's long enough."
Harry's scar prickled. Damnit.
Draco's eyes flickered across Harry's face. "You've got Voldemort-face."
"No, I don't," Harry lied.
Draco snorted disbelievingly. "Can I sleep now?"
"Yes," Harry said, his own eyelids falling together gently. "Yes."