Fandom/Genre: Harry Potter
A/N: Harry's POV. written a while ago, now edited.
Afterwards they sleep, always, and he sees fog, and clouds, and mist. Never raining, just a silvery-golden mist that is everywhere, with the light shining through it like dawn. He can even see the sharp edges of the pine silhouettes, like serrated knives against the light sky, and the point of light where everything comes from. It’s like flying, it’s like heaven. He can never smell things in dreams, though, so when he feels the tickle of fine hair and cool, quicksilver, feathery scent fills his nose and mouth and lungs, he knows he is waking up. He could suffocate in it, that smell, even though it was hardly anything. It is like water, he can feel, and he lifts his head and opened his eyes blearily to see the blur of sun peer in the window. It’s cool like water, it filled his lungs like water and leaves no room for oxygen. It even tastes almost-but-not-quite like nothing, exactly like water. And most of all, if he spends too much time inhaling it, it will overwhelm him and suffocate him. He still needs it to live. He can’t survive without it. And that, he decides as he surfaces, more aware of his surroundings and the person nestled into him, that is exactly how it is.