Ioan's roommates knew him well enough to leave him alone when the curtains of his bed were closed in the morning. It usually meant one of a few things: he was nursing a hangover, he'd stayed up all night writing a song, or someone was visiting. Regardless, he appreciated the respect (or maybe it was just that they didn't really give a shite that early). As soon as everyone was gone, though, he grabbed his wand from beneath his pillow and spread the fabric wide. Romilda had asked to see him - he didn't want her thinking he changed his mind.
He'd made sure to be up at the break of dawn, showered and fresh, though he'd have passed as bed-rumpled in his flannel pajama pants and Pink Floyd t-shirt, plus the fact that his hair was ridiculous. That was how Romilda found him - flopped against his pillows, his eyes half closed and a song on his lips, muttered quietly into the semi-darkness of the room. But when she started to speak, her words coming out in an excited rush, he sat up. His eyes widened and a smile broke over his face bright as the dawn and then she was on him and over him and around him, and life could not be better.
Wrapping his arms around his girlfriend, he held her so tightly she might've had trouble breathing, but there was no chance of his letting go anytime soon. This was too sweet. Too missed. He loved her, with every part of himself, and there was no denying that anymore. Sure, he was seventeen and she even younger, but something like this? Real, no matter what numbers were attached to it.
"Damn it, girl," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "Don't ever do this to me again, aye? I love you. Fuck, but I love you."