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"What're you doing?" Harry asked, nudging Draco's shoulder and peering past him through the open French doors. Morning light glinted off the waves of the Mediterranean Sea, the scent of lavender, sea salt and juniper in the air.
Regulus was out on the terrace overlooking the beach, barefoot, dressed only in Draco's green satin boxers—the little thief—feeding bits of croissant to two seagulls circling above him like vultures.
Draco stood with a scowl on his face, teacup held forgotten in one hand. "Fix it, Potter."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Potter is it? That's not what you called me last night." He stole the cup from Draco's hand and took a sip. It was barely lukewarm anymore. How long had Draco stood here watching?
Draco's fingers spasmed in the empty air, but he kept resolutely staring at Regulus. "It's unhygienic, is what it is. You need to make him stop."
"Why don't you talk to him?"
"Because he listens to you. You're his favourite." The 'duh' was implied. "And give me back my tea."
"Nope," Harry said. "And I'm not his favourite." He kissed Draco's shoulder. "He adores you."
Draco's lips quirked, pink spreading across his cheeks. "He named them, you know, the seagulls."
"Oh," was all Harry said, nudging his body further into Draco's, hoping he would take the hint.
Draco put his arms around Harry from behind, nudging his chin into Harry's hair, murmuring, "Bergamot and Lucifer."
"Lucifer?" Harry asked.
"Yes. He thinks he's being funny. Lucifer is the Latin name for the morning star, and that damnable bird has been waking us up for a week now."
Harry looked at Regulus, who was now trying to pet the little devil bird. He was going to lose a finger. "Yeah, he's a funny one," Harry said, and sipped his tea.