It had quickly become a common occurrence for Draco to slip out of Harry’s bed in the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t notice him leave; he was usually brought back to the brink of consciousness by the rustling of the sheets and the dip of the mattress whenever Draco sat up. While Harry was sure Draco wasn’t getting enough sleep, he usually accepted it, forfeiting an argument before it ever started by rolling over and sleeping in.<br/>Harry had done that this morning, too, before he reconsidered.<br/>He had already tipped over on his back when he reached for Draco, extending his arm to the void Draco had left. The back of Harry’s hand settled against the warm cotton Draco had only just risen from, Harry’s fingers barely brushing against Draco’s shoulder.<br/>“Hey,” he muddled, only then blinking awake. He tipped his head towards Draco, eyelids heavy as he watched the other man sit up against the daybreak; by now it was a familiar sight.