Harry’s jotting down some more notes when he feels a thud on his right shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, thank God, because when he turns his head to the right his suspicions are confirmed. The boy has fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder.
When Harry lets out the breath he had been holding, the sleeping boy pushes his nose further into the burgundy fabric of Harry’s sweater, and wraps his arm around Harry’s waist.
This boy is going to be the death of him.
Or; the one where Harry likes poems, soft sweaters, old novels, and that one boy in his Romantic Poetry course that keeps falling asleep during lectures.