Christmas Morning
Harry: “Morning, pretty girl.” he mumbles, running fingers through the ended of your tangled hair, bleary eyes scanning over your features with a lazy smile on his lips, “Happy Christmas.” You smile when he presses quiet kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, giggling lightly as his lips ghost over your own. And in your own little world, his lips and his hands and his sleepy chuckles fill your mind. There’s presents to be opened and people to call, but right now, all that matters is him and the hums that spill from his lips that sound something like a Christmas carol.
