Work Text:
Lockwood hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the sofa. He blamed Kipps’s whiskey and Flo’s karaoke machine. Still, it had been a memorable birthday. Or he assumed it had been. Bits were fuzzy.
He remembered collapsing onto the sofa beside Lucy, giggling at his and George’s rendition of Who Let the Wraiths Out. She’d curled up beside him, her warmth seeping into his side…
He looked down. Lucy’s head was pillowed on his chest, her breathing aligned with his.
He smiled softly. It had been a good birthday, and he had an inkling it would be a very good year.