a/n: Various favorite prompts over the years from my blog about Valentine's Day, "Nice of you to drop in.", and "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

Disclaimer: ha ha no.

Title: in the architecture of the soul

Word Count: 1K

Summary: "Personally?" Harry hooked his hands under his boyfriend's knees. "It depends on how many more curl-ups you can do." [tumblr prompts, Gender AU – M/M]

"Sorry that I'm late." Harry dropped a quick kiss on his boyfriend's mouth before settling in his chair. "Robards ran the meeting late, and I needed to get change." He waved a hand over his Muggle suit. The mismatched tie was crooked, and his hair was still unkempt from running down the halls of the Ministry. The maître d had given him a sour look when entering.

"You look fine," assured Gid. He pointed at Harry's plate with his fork. "I already ordered you some salad."

Harry's stomach grumbled, and he eagerly reached for his own fork. "You're a lifesaver." He quickly scanned the menu, no clue what he was in the mood for. "What do you want?"

"The rabbit looks good, I think. We had that in France, right? You?"

"Fuck."

"That's the idea once we get back," Gid said dryly as he read the menu. "What kind of wine are you thinking…" He slowly turned around, and Harry watched his boyfriend's face went from idle amusement to shock thinly covering rage. "What the fuck?"

Vernon and Petunia Dursley were sitting near them. Vernon hadn't changed much, but the top of his bald head was shining, and his enormous greying moustache quivered as he struggled to get a waiter's attention. Petunia's hair appeared brighter under the use of dye and was sharply surveying the restaurant as she judged in her salmon pink dress.

Harry thought that he was having a nightmare.

"What are they doing here?" Gid was halfway out of his chair, his glare burning holes in the back of Vernon's head.

Harry's ankle crossed his boyfriend's. "Don't. There is a Statute of Secrecy to think about."

"Are you mad? Ron and I have a list of things we would love to do."

"Sirs, are you having any trouble deciding on your orders?" interrupted a third voice. Their waiter appeared with a sneer underneath his pencil-thin moustache. He glared at Gid.

"We just recognize some people, that's all," said Harry as Gid sheepishly sat back down. He reached for his boyfriend's freckled hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.

"Would you like for them to come—"

"No!" Harry almost knocked over his glass of water.

The waiter sighed, and the orders were hastily given. Once away, Harry kept throwing glances at the Dursleys, waiting for the eventuality of them noticing him.

"We should make them really uncomfortable," Gid said. The ice cubes in his glass clinked as he set his glass down. There was a spark in his eyes that was intriguing.

Harry gnawed on a hangnail, the image of Vernon's face turning plum purple appeared happily in his mind, or even better, Petunia fainting. "Got any bright ideas?"

"Do you think we'll even get a free dessert if I propose to you right now?"

"No!" Harry's chair tipped back. He caught himself and lowered his voice. "Gideon Weasley, you are not going to do that."

Gid raised his fork full of salad and pointed accusatorially at him. "I'll even throw a passionate speech about how I've been madly in love with you since I was ten. I swear, people will be crying by the end of it."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes or to look at the Dursleys. Them being here was like being a mixture of different ages. He was eleven and fighting tears in the cupboard, he was fifteen and arguing on why he shouldn't be kicked out, seventeen and seeing them for the last time. Feeling all of that was urging him to find a large bottle of wine. No one should ever have to deal with that kind of turmoil.

"Are you sure? They have heart-shaped tiramisu. Say the word and I'll be down on one knee."

"Just distract me," Harry gritted out. He forcibly angled his chair so that Gid took up his view. "They are not going to ruin this evening." Focus, he told himself. Harry forced all of his attention on his boyfriend, how the golden-brown tie matched his eyes, or how the low lights caught the lighter highlights in his fiery hair, the freckles that disappeared under the collar of his shirt… Harry let out a slow breath as Gid's foot nudged his. He nudged back. He wasn't eleven, fifteen or seventeen anymore. He was twenty-two and having a romantic evening with his boyfriend.

Their wine came with their food in large plates. Harry's had small veal that was sprinkled with fennel carrots, seeping in a pool of lemon juice. Gid's had lightly-braised rabbit with baby carrots smothered in mustard. They looked down at their entrees and then at each other.

"Eat the measly portions and head back for Chinese food?" suggested Harry. He dropped his napkin in his lap and wondered how much the lemon would add to the veal's taste. It would have to be enough to hold him over until he would get his hands on some garlic chicken and cuddling on their couch in the living room.

Gid swished the wine in his glass before drinking. His dark eyes captured Harry's in a heavy gaze. "At least let's take some strawberry sorbet home with us."

...

An exhausted Harry tripped over his boyfriend as he exited the Floo.

"Nice of you to drop in," Gid groaned from under him. He rolled his head to the side and smiled sheepishly at Harry who was rubbing the beginning of a bruise on his chin. "How was work?"

Harry pushed himself up on his forearms, but never made any move to get off of Gid. Instead he changed his position so that he was parallel instead of horizontal to the redhead. "Well," he said. "Apart from chasing some Death Eaters all over London, I came home to see a Quidditch Player sleeping on the floor."

Gid gave him a mournful look. "You know how Oliver's been a tiff since we lost that match to the Falcons?"

"I remember you sulking in the shower for a good hour after." Harry recalled how that match had went, and the utter dismay that the entire team had felt when the Falcons' Seeker has caught the Snitch just as their own had nearly fallen off their broom thanks to a Bludger. It was a painful ending to watch.

Gid flicked one of the brass buttons on Harry's uniform. "Oliver doesn't want us to lose like that again. We've been testing out different positions all day, and now he's got this mad idea of doing all of these Muggle sports conditioning."

"What you're really trying to say," Harry said, "is that you can't move?"

"I took a step towards the coffee table and gave up."

"Impressive."

"I have my moments." Gid curled into Harry's side, sighing deeply. "Bloody Hell, I'm tired."

Harry brushed his fingers through the soft and coppery hair, tracing a line of freckles that went behind Gid's ear. "That makes both of us," he agreed, yawning. "I don't want to see another darkened alley for a while."

Gid raised his head, blinking his brown eyes slowly. "Think we can make it to the bed?"

"Are you challenging me?" asked Harry. Small things between them were always a competition, even without their constant use of Quidditch (playing against him for a one-on-one match was always fun–or letting a Snitch loose in their place and seeing who would catch it first). Cooking together, guessing the plot of a program on the wireless; or even sillier things, like chasing each other around the flat. If there was a way, there would be a bet placed and their feet scrambling to get it accomplished.

It also helped that they were both competitive people.

Gid pressed a fluttering kiss to the bruise on Harry's chin before moving to his lips. "Race you there."

Neither of them got very far.

In fact, they more or less gave up by the time they reached the couch.

Close enough, Harry thought, collapsing on the cushions with his boyfriend. He took his glasses off, and he smiled as Gid curled around him like a cat. Using his official Auror robe as a makeshift blanket, Harry draped it over them and soon found himself drifting off to sleep.

Later

"Psst, Harry."

"M'sleepin', Gideon."

"I won that race, right?"

"Go back to sleep."

...

"Just how stupid do you think I am?"

"Personally?" Harry hooked his hands under his boyfriend's knees. "It depends on how many more curl-ups you can do."

Gid fell back on the floor, exhausted. His red hair fell over his face in sweaty waves. "Then can you leave me here to die?"

Harry leaned forward. He clucked his tongue in disappointment. "You can't give up on me that easily."

"Neeeeeeeeeegh…." He threw his hands up in the air, muttering curses toward his Puddlemere Quidditch captain Oliver Wood. It had been a day full of running, weights, and doing through a various list of other training exercises Oliver had deemed necessary for his underlings when they weren't at practice. It was the matter of winning the Cup or certain death. Harry knew that there was more to it, but he'd mainly been distracted by his boyfriend wearing joggers during their morning run together. "No one can finish this exercise set. It's torture."

"You have no one but yourself to blame, Gideon."

"You're not helpful."

"I'm being supportive," corrected Harry with a wry smile. "And as your former school captain, I'll kick your arse if you say otherwise. Now get up and move, Weasley. I need you to be in a Quidditch calendar monthly type of perfection by the end of this."