"Sirius," began Remus Lupin, speaking slowly and pronouncing each syllable with a tone of Intense Directness That Really Can't Be Misunderstood So Don't Even Try To Pretend. "Get off my bed. You reek of puppy dander and body odour."
"That's not fair. You smell like old musty books and woolly jumpers, but I put up with you, don't I?" Sirius lay diagonally across the mattress, his toes millimetres from Remus' nose, head hanging off the edge of the foot of the bed. His face was obscured in the bed curtains, and they muffled his words, turning them into a series of oomphs. After a moment, Sirius lifted his head and raised himself up on all fours, turning around and flopping back down on the old mattress, his head now beside Remus'. He looked up at the ceiling and grinned to himself. "Good morning, Moony."
Remus did not even begin pursue the question of how (or why) Sirius had ended up on his bed and, with a sigh of resignation, merely half-heartedly (and rather untruthfully) threatened to leash him to his bed if this ever happened again, especially so early in the morning.
"You would never do such a thing. You enjoy the smell of my feet in the morning far too much," Sirius yawned, wiggling his toes. With that, he sat up, threw open the velvet curtains, and went off in search of socks, leaving Remus to obsess quietly to himself over the horrifying fact that Sirius was completely right.