“Why would you sleep on the couch?” She scolds him, swinging the pillow again and swatting him in the shoulder, “You’re the movie star, Harry! If Mr. Nolan knows I’m the reason why one of his golden boys looks like he got hit by a truck, he’d have my head!”
Mustering all his strength, he lifts up with one arm, rubbing some of the sleep fuzziness from his eyes, “Ai, he won’t mind it, Darlin’ loves you to bits I bet.”
“No, Bug, that wouldn’t stop me from an upbraiding, lemme tell you,” she tells him, pulling the shirt back up her shoulder but it just droops right back down, and he notices her socks fuzzy and uneven on her legs, “Once I let Jimmy stay out to late with me, and he was so hungover he looked like he’d been hit by a bus. Mr. Nolan wouldn’t let me sit in his chair for five whole days and he has the comfiest chair.”
or
Harry is in a film, and Y/N’s the director’s terribly cute assistant
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