A small snigger escaped Harry. "Not sure I've ever heard anybody call bein' used as a cushion 'comfy' before. Usually people ain't too happy about it; weird sense of comfort you got there, muchacho." But he leaned back anyway, settling into his earlier spot more quickly than the last time. Harry was the kind of person who needed other people around, tended to function better when he had somebody to talk to, gauge things off of, or even just be near. It was a way to ground him, separate the real and present from the fantasy and delusions, distract him from the chaos in his head that tended to get him into trouble if he wasn't careful (and he seldom was), so he was secretly glad Tim didn't object.
He tried to focus on the movie. Really, he did; the music was good, culturally appropriate but with a modern spin, and the sequence was really interesting, but he just.couldn't.focus. A glance towards the flicker of movement in the corner of his eye revealed the reason, and he reached out to grab the mess of hands with one of his own, holding onto one and pressing the other still. "You're bein' distracting," he commented reproachfully, not dropping his gaze from the movie for even a second.