If Harry's awkward stammering and stumbling around weren't bad enough before, they'd gone up a few notches now that Peter had unhesitatingly pressed close to him again. His heart practically leaped into his throat and all he could do was sit there, dumbfounded. Even more so as it sunk in that Peter behaved like this was natural. No confusion, no questioning... Nothing. Harry fell back on "this is a dream" again, and truth be told, he was fine with not waking up for a while. Maybe it wasn't the "right" thing to do, but Harry didn't exactly want to move. It wasn't so bad just enjoying Peter's proximity to him, was it?

"I did?" No recollection of that either, but Harry wouldn't doubt it. It sounded like something he'd do and he couldn't help but laugh a little. Not because of the situation, really... but because of that one word Peter used: our. Our kitchen. Was this their home? He found himself scanning the walls a second time with enough curiosity that all he could muster in response was a somewhat distracted, "I mean... maybe I was sleep-baking."

Is he feeling okay? What a loaded question. He felt like he was in 13 Going on 30 or something, only he wasn't sure he wanted to just blurt out that he couldn't remember his life, this room, or how they got here. Part of him didn't want to ruin this. "I-- don't know? I didn't think you were the snuggly type." A weak laugh escaped him as his gaze wandered back to Peter, then back to their intertwined fingers, still in complete wonderment. Periodically flexing his fingers, reassuring himself that this feels real in slow, experimental movements-- as if he's waiting for Peter to up and vanish before his very eyes. "I woke up feeling kind of weird, I guess. I think I'm still half-asleep."

Well, he's not lying. A beat, and then:

"Sorry for waking you up. I know you're not much of a morning person." Because... Peter was still Peter, right?