I look down from the arm of the couch to his sleeping body stretched out by the fireplace, a tiny smile on his face and knowing him, that probably means he's having a very dirty dream. He's shirtless, and his tanned skin is a thin layer that covers his toned abdominal muscles like a sheet covering a mattress.
His torso ripples as he turns and changes position to face the couch, where I'm curled up and staring at him. His green tie is knotted around his head, like a drunken frat boy at a party. His black sweatpants ride low on his slender hips, the hipbones jutting out slightly, the area between the two peaks a concave plane. His long, dark eyelashes curl outwards, a slightly feminine touch, contrasted by what I know to be the sharp, rugged green of his eyes.
When he's conscious and I manage to look into his eyes, I can see individual strands of teal green and maroon intertwining with each other and darkening slightly towards the edges, creating a spectacular effect. His gaze could be so intense sometimes that I lose my sense of self, I lose control and the line I know to be marking the difference between right and wrong diffuses into the dust.
His dark hair is tousled beneath the tie, and oh, how I love that hair. That hair is the reason I wake up every morning. Of course, what's under there counts too. But that hair! It smells like oranges and always looks like he just got out of bed, even though I know that he spends a perilous amount of time on it every morning. It's a wonderfully dark shade of brown, like the bark of the Whomping Willow, but light enough that when it catches the rays from the sun, it looks like the stars are perched atop his head.
He grunts and stirs, and I see his eyes beginning to flutter. He wakes up and those huge orbs soften as he smiles when he sees me. He grunts once again and waves his arm about, and I instantly understand what he's getting at. I stand up and walk the two paces to his body, and lie down perpendicular to him with my head on his stomach. It's warm enough that we don't need to smoosh together to conserve body heat, but cool enough to be comfortable. He starts playing with my hair and I feel a grin creeping up on my face.
We're both silent.
Soon, I feel him starting to drift back to sleep again, his chest rising and falling slowly and evenly as he breathes. I look up once again at his face, crawl up and kiss his strong jaw very lightly as not to wake him. I get back into my previous position and close my eyes. As I feel myself drifting into sleep, I mutter, "Goodnight. Sleep tight." With that, I lose consciousness, my head resting just below his bellybutton, his hands still entangled in my messy hair, right there on the floor next to the fireplace in the common room.