~~ivy's response fic.
Jan. 22nd, 2003 06:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
reenkawell, i didn't read ivy's `rose red' until today. and it's just nearly perfect the way it is, but i could see what she means about getting them together, and of course, i can't resist a challenge, eheheheh. ahem.
Draco realized the boy he was holding was just standing stiffly, unresponsive, shaking in his arms, feeling so fragile and breakable, it was like a jolt through him. Did he do this? Did he make it so Harry was this painfully thin, almost transparent? They were both cold, and they were both crying, and he felt so stupid and so wrong suddenly, like a huge bloody idiot, and yet here he was. Here they both were. Cold, shivering, feeling naked and useless, with his "I love you" feeling sodden as his roses, a flickering flame doused by the rain. Harry was shaking, and cold, and this wasn't helping, unlike all the times he could just hold Harry and it would be okay, suddenly, now nothing was, and he was just hurting him. He was the one sitting here for two days, but it seemed like Harry was the one about to drown.
Draco swallowed some rain and some tears, his throat feeling raw, beginning to shiver all of a sudden, after all this time. His hand had somehow become buried in Harry's hair, and he was saying things, meaningless things, over and over, and stupid as it was, he couldn't seem to -stop-, it was as if something would end if he stopped talking, and Harry would jerk away, and run, and he'd be right, he -should- run. He should be alone. It was best that way, maybe even for both of them, so it really made no sense that they were exactly where they found themselves, in the drenching cold rain, holding each other as if they could hold each other's heads above water if they held tightly enough, stood still enough.
"I'msorrysorrysorryohgodHarry," he mumbled into slick black hair, still soft and safe and smelling so much like he remembered that Draco thought he could faint. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, not now. He couldn't fall apart now. He had to say something else, anything else, this was -it-, this was the moment of truth, and he didn't even know any truth worth giving, worth having. Would Harry even care if he knew? And what was there to know, anyway? Just all of him, and all the dirty, unspeakable corners, and all the stupid mistakes and all the times and all the ways that he wasn't what Harry needed or wanted or deserved.
Harry was burying his face in Draco's shoulder, rubbing his nose in the once-impeccable silk shirt, sniffling a little, his muscles relaxing slightly, as if his body was becoming as limp and soggy as the cliched love on the table. This is the sort of thing Draco would ignore, and try to scoff at, and maybe even blatantly disregard. Harry was in pain and he had no idea what to do, and he never had. They would both drown like this, trying to be something they're not, and Draco was never one for lost causes, he thought. That was Harry's job. But Harry wasn't there to do it anymore, wasn't there to be the strong unconquered hero, and something inside Draco had told him that he wouldn't be for a long time, probably never, just as soon as that door slammed. He knew perfectly well it up to him to wake up and smell his own roses, and he was terrified, and now that he was holding the object of his supposed desire, some part of him he usually pretended didn't exist just felt like crying and maybe running away.
"Harry... Harry...." He was whispering, he could feel his lips move, but no sound emerged. He just couldn't. They couldn't. He couldn't seem to say anything that meant anything real, and maybe he never had, but then, no one had required it of him. Being real wasn't as interesting as being Draco Malfoy, and wasn't that why Harry was with him? It certainly couldn't have had anything to do with who he really was, that is if he'd ever bothered to wonder. Which he hadn't.
So really, he had no idea why he said it, but Draco found that whenever he stopped planning his attacks, considering his moves, the most ridiculous, nonsensical things left his mouth. He had learned early on not to let things slip, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that no one really wanted to hear the uncensored version of the inner monologue that went on in Draco Malfoy's head.
"Trust me, please, please trust me... Harry... please," he found himself saying, knowing how stupid and cliched it sounded and how insulting it was to Harry's intelligence and his own, but he couldn't seem to -stop-, couldn't seem to stop any of it, saying all the inane things and holding Harry tighter and crying and all of it. Could he?
And then he was kissing Harry's cold, wet cheek, and he was pulling away, and he wasn't trying to say anything at all, he was just-- letting things be. Because he may want to play the hero and rescue Harry and himself, but he knew he was no good at that, and he'd just make a horrible corpse, ugly and blue, having drowned in too much rain and tears and regret.
As Draco walked away, he was sharply aware of Harry's breathing, it was like he could still hear it, louder than the rain, harsh and painful sounding, like the crashing of the ocean in a tiny, delicate shell. He was aware of the pin-pricks of the rain, startling him into a strange, heightened sense of wakefulness, and he thought for a hysterical moment that it seemed like he was aware of everything, and he could do nothing. It couldn't possibly be a good thing that he felt like laughing at his own idiocy, but he figured he was allowed some insanity, having had no sleep for days on end. And indeed he felt like he was walking through a waking dream, everything smudged and yet brilliantly vivid, as if underwater in a crystal-clear ocean.
It was then he heard it, and he had a feeling it had been there for some time without him noticing, perhaps even forever, repeating in an unending loop. The sound of Harry calling his name, his voice thick and ragged, a croak really. Like some dark old witch from an old tale, stripped of all beauty and glamour and power she might once have had. "Draco! Draco! Wait!"
He turned around, slowly, feeling vaguely astonished, unreal and still desperately aware of every tiny detail of Harry's appearance, of the rain dripping off those silly glasses, of the wobbly cast to the mouth, which was turning as blue as his own.
Harry walked toward him, slowly, wavering only a very little. It hit Draco, quite suddenly, that Harry was drunk, and that seemed just the most hilarious thing all of a sudden, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Of all the ironies. Here he was, painfully bloody sober for once in his life, and Harry looked like he could barely stay on his feet, much less process what was happening. Draco sighed. Did he need -another- sign that he should just stop while he was behind, or were about five hundred and twenty seven quite enough?
"Draco...," Harry began, looking like he was making quite the valiant effort. "Draco...."
"Harry," Draco agreed, not caring that he was being kind and soft and stupid and a million other things he could think of if he gave himself a minute. He was getting good at telling the little voices that came up with all that stuff to shut up. On some days, anyway.
"I... I don't know what to say," he managed finally. "I'm... drunk, and this is... this is... this makes no sense. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry. This is just... I can't... oh God...." He rolled his eyes up, staring at the now-dark sky, the rain most probably obliterating his vision. "But thank you. I just wanted to say that. Thank you."
"The roses were ruined. I'm sorry for that. Not the best beginning. Or ending, I guess," Draco said, and it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, doing this. But then, his whole body seemed to hurt, to feel hollow and somehow feverish, so he supposed he would notice the pain later. Or not. He was good at not noticing, after all. Lots of practice.
"I don't mean the roses, Draco." And Harry was looking at him again, really -looking-, and though Draco had thought he was prepared for that, he wasn't, he never had been. Now it was his turn to feel fragile and transparent, and he didn't like it, but he'd resolved to give Harry whatever he would ask for today, and so here he was, standing still. It probably wasn't enough, but then, nothing would be enough, he knew that.
"Oh," he breathed, trying not to look at Harry for some reason, but not being able to look away. The looking was something measurable these days. One more look, and another one in a month, or in two or three, or maybe never, who could tell. One gathered the things one had, and put them together, and tried to make something out of them, but all that ever resulted were yet more names for regret. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to-- you don't have to do this. I'm sorry. I thought... I don't know what I thought. I was wrong, obviously. But if I never tried, I'd always wonder, though I knew. I'm not as oblivious as you think, Harry. I may be a lot of things, and I won't deny it, but I'm not blind. I know it's too late, and we are who are are, or maybe we're not who we were, not anymore. I don't know. But I know it's too late." Draco was feeling the words flow from him without volition, seeming hot and somehow liquid, and if he could have drowned in them, maybe he would have, but he probably wouldn't, and couldn't. And didn't. They were just words, and tears were only tears, and both would pass, mingling with the rain, sinking into the ground beneath their feet.
"No...," Harry began, because he was Harry Potter, and at his center he couldn't really accept hopelessness, not all the way to the core. He had to fight, he always did, even when he was on the losing side, and maybe then especially. Had Draco loved or hated that about him? As was usual when it came to his feelings towards Harry, it seemed to be both. Mostly it hurt to be on the losing side himself, along with Harry. Trapped there, walled in by impossibilities as if they were enchanted glass. It was unbearable.
"Yes. Yes, Harry. You lost, I lost, the game is over, eh? This is as good as it gets for us, isn't it? This is it." He had to say it. He had to. He had to. Right now, right this moment. He had to say it, Draco knew this. He would force himself. He had said whatever he planned on for all of his life, and this was no different. He could do this. Easy. "It's all right. Really. It's all right. Goodbye, Harry," Draco said, and his voice was even to his own amazement.
Harry's face crumpled, and he wasn't looking away, and neither was Draco, though he'd said his piece, and it was right about time to exit stage left. It was time to not notice the broken look sweeping over Harry's eyes, and to pretend like he was doing Harry a favor, his last grand gesture, this was all for Harry, because Harry wanted this, so he was going to give it to him, and that was that. Now if he could just -move-, then....
"No.... No. Draco. No," Harry whispered. "I meant-- what I meant was-- what I meant was, it's okay. You could-- you know-- come with me-- and dry off. And then.... Then... you could go. Dry. I can't let you do this. You'll catch your death like this."
Draco felt like laughing, somewhat bitterly, so he did. Harry flinched, and he couldn't be glad, but at least things were going according to plan again. "You don't have to worry, Potter. It's not your concern anymore. Besides, I'm a wizard, or have you forgotten? I can just apparate home at any time."
Harry was frowning, and looking at him with a strange light in his eyes, almost like he was trying to figure something out, and Draco didn't like it. He hadn't changed after all, he was, and always will be Draco Malfoy, and it's time he realized that himself. Malfoys didn't woo, and Malfoys did't say they were sorry, and Malfoys certainly didn't cry standing in the cold sodding -rain-, as their lovers rejected them, -again-.
"Home...." Harry said, almost inaudibly, a wondering look on his face. "Home used to be wherever you were, did you know that? It used to be. But then you left me. You left me, and I was alone, and I couldn't stand it, being home without you, especially if you seemed to be right there with me. It's more real now, see? I'm alone, just like I always was. And so are you."
"Harry. I'm here. I'm here now." And he couldn't stop himself saying that, and abandoning the plan -again-, any more than he could stop himself walking the few steps towards Harry again, and reaching out his hand toward Harry's, his fingers finding the other boy's instinctively, unerringly. "I don't know what home is, or if I'm worth finding there, but I just-- can't be without you. I've tried and I can't, I can't, it's been killing me, and I just -can't-, even though I want to, for you, for my pride, for a million stupid things, really I do. I love you, Harry." His eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't bear looking at Harry right now and he almost hated himself for that, but it was just too much. He squeezed Harry's bony fingers tighter within his own, and repeated it, again and again. "Love you. Love you. -Love you-."
"Draco."
Harry was sobbing openly now, and squeezing his hand harshly, but it could never be tight enough, could never be harsh enough, and if Draco's bones could break, then at least he could feel it, and maybe their love was strong enough for this.
"I have to go," Harry said, his voice low and raspy, and racked with choked-back sobs. Draco thought he would fall then, finally, because his legs weren't feeling up to holding him up all of a sudden. Maybe he'd fall hard enough that the world would fade, and he could sleep. Sleeping might not be one of his favored solutions, but it seemed to work right at the moment. He hadn't slept for so long. It couldn't have just been days. Maybe it was weeks, or months. Or perhaps it was, more precisely, half a year that he'd spent tossing and turning, his body seeking a familiar warmth it never found. He had finally decided, after yet another consecutive night of sleepless, sexless wakefulness, with all the staring at the ceiling and the picturing Harry naked with that stupid little man, and the thoughts of them whenever he tried to sleep or eat or shower or think or fuck, which had put him off touching anyone, including himself. He had decided he had had enough. Harry had to come back, for real this time.
"Draco, come back. I'll come back, tomorrow. I'll come back, do you hear me?" Harry was saying something, quite urgently, shaking him, but Draco seemed to be floating away, hallucinating like he'd begun to recently, because what Harry was saying made no sense anymore, and a part of Draco was glad at this, this letting go. It felt pleasant.
"Harry?" he said groggily, blinking a bit at the rain, which was easing up now, though it was still managing to drip annoyingly off his eyelashes, down his cheeks somehow. It felt warm now though. Warm and salty, and he couldn't think why.
"Will you come back too?" Harry was saying. Oh yes, it made sense. It made perfect sense, even if he couldn't believe it, and he could only shake his head in amazement.
"You have to, goddamn you, don't you bail on me again, I can't handle it, you fucking bastard. You -have- to. Say you'll come back here, tomorrow morning. Say you'll be here. Say it, Draco." Harry's eyes were flashing fierce like they used to, and he didn't seem at all drunk anymore, Draco noticed with some wonderment. Now it was him again, being the one about to disintegrate, and everything was right in the world, though not really back to normal. It couldn't be. It had to not be. Harry would make him wake up, and no one had to be the hero, did they? Maybe Harry could just wake him up because he loved him.
Draco swallowed, and it was painful, and his mouth seemed stiff and almost impossible to move, and it took -effort-, but he said it. He said it slowly, carefully folding his lips around the words, trying them out as he said them. "Will you be here?"
"Of -course-, you idiot, didn't I just -say- that?" Apparently, Harry had overcome his fragility, because he was being familiar and irritable again. Which suited Draco just fine, actually.
The smile felt foreign to Draco's mouth, but he liked the strange, uncomfortable feeling of his mouth moving slowly, stretching around his teeth. He hoped he didn't look too unbecoming, but it didn't really matter, he supposed. "You did," he said, nodding. Harry was glaring. Draco, to his increasing surprise, was grinning, if a bit manically. He laughed a little, but it sounded more like he was choking. He realized Harry's hand was still in his own, and that seemed hilarious for some reason.
"If you will, I will." Draco looked into Harry's eyes, peering behind the rain-slick, fogged-up glass. He thought he saw something, and it was enough, whether it was an understanding, or a beginning, or possibly just hope.
~~
and, silvia?? i now ship draco/dumbledore. this is all your fault -.-
Draco realized the boy he was holding was just standing stiffly, unresponsive, shaking in his arms, feeling so fragile and breakable, it was like a jolt through him. Did he do this? Did he make it so Harry was this painfully thin, almost transparent? They were both cold, and they were both crying, and he felt so stupid and so wrong suddenly, like a huge bloody idiot, and yet here he was. Here they both were. Cold, shivering, feeling naked and useless, with his "I love you" feeling sodden as his roses, a flickering flame doused by the rain. Harry was shaking, and cold, and this wasn't helping, unlike all the times he could just hold Harry and it would be okay, suddenly, now nothing was, and he was just hurting him. He was the one sitting here for two days, but it seemed like Harry was the one about to drown.
Draco swallowed some rain and some tears, his throat feeling raw, beginning to shiver all of a sudden, after all this time. His hand had somehow become buried in Harry's hair, and he was saying things, meaningless things, over and over, and stupid as it was, he couldn't seem to -stop-, it was as if something would end if he stopped talking, and Harry would jerk away, and run, and he'd be right, he -should- run. He should be alone. It was best that way, maybe even for both of them, so it really made no sense that they were exactly where they found themselves, in the drenching cold rain, holding each other as if they could hold each other's heads above water if they held tightly enough, stood still enough.
"I'msorrysorrysorryohgodHarry," he mumbled into slick black hair, still soft and safe and smelling so much like he remembered that Draco thought he could faint. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, not now. He couldn't fall apart now. He had to say something else, anything else, this was -it-, this was the moment of truth, and he didn't even know any truth worth giving, worth having. Would Harry even care if he knew? And what was there to know, anyway? Just all of him, and all the dirty, unspeakable corners, and all the stupid mistakes and all the times and all the ways that he wasn't what Harry needed or wanted or deserved.
Harry was burying his face in Draco's shoulder, rubbing his nose in the once-impeccable silk shirt, sniffling a little, his muscles relaxing slightly, as if his body was becoming as limp and soggy as the cliched love on the table. This is the sort of thing Draco would ignore, and try to scoff at, and maybe even blatantly disregard. Harry was in pain and he had no idea what to do, and he never had. They would both drown like this, trying to be something they're not, and Draco was never one for lost causes, he thought. That was Harry's job. But Harry wasn't there to do it anymore, wasn't there to be the strong unconquered hero, and something inside Draco had told him that he wouldn't be for a long time, probably never, just as soon as that door slammed. He knew perfectly well it up to him to wake up and smell his own roses, and he was terrified, and now that he was holding the object of his supposed desire, some part of him he usually pretended didn't exist just felt like crying and maybe running away.
"Harry... Harry...." He was whispering, he could feel his lips move, but no sound emerged. He just couldn't. They couldn't. He couldn't seem to say anything that meant anything real, and maybe he never had, but then, no one had required it of him. Being real wasn't as interesting as being Draco Malfoy, and wasn't that why Harry was with him? It certainly couldn't have had anything to do with who he really was, that is if he'd ever bothered to wonder. Which he hadn't.
So really, he had no idea why he said it, but Draco found that whenever he stopped planning his attacks, considering his moves, the most ridiculous, nonsensical things left his mouth. He had learned early on not to let things slip, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that no one really wanted to hear the uncensored version of the inner monologue that went on in Draco Malfoy's head.
"Trust me, please, please trust me... Harry... please," he found himself saying, knowing how stupid and cliched it sounded and how insulting it was to Harry's intelligence and his own, but he couldn't seem to -stop-, couldn't seem to stop any of it, saying all the inane things and holding Harry tighter and crying and all of it. Could he?
And then he was kissing Harry's cold, wet cheek, and he was pulling away, and he wasn't trying to say anything at all, he was just-- letting things be. Because he may want to play the hero and rescue Harry and himself, but he knew he was no good at that, and he'd just make a horrible corpse, ugly and blue, having drowned in too much rain and tears and regret.
As Draco walked away, he was sharply aware of Harry's breathing, it was like he could still hear it, louder than the rain, harsh and painful sounding, like the crashing of the ocean in a tiny, delicate shell. He was aware of the pin-pricks of the rain, startling him into a strange, heightened sense of wakefulness, and he thought for a hysterical moment that it seemed like he was aware of everything, and he could do nothing. It couldn't possibly be a good thing that he felt like laughing at his own idiocy, but he figured he was allowed some insanity, having had no sleep for days on end. And indeed he felt like he was walking through a waking dream, everything smudged and yet brilliantly vivid, as if underwater in a crystal-clear ocean.
It was then he heard it, and he had a feeling it had been there for some time without him noticing, perhaps even forever, repeating in an unending loop. The sound of Harry calling his name, his voice thick and ragged, a croak really. Like some dark old witch from an old tale, stripped of all beauty and glamour and power she might once have had. "Draco! Draco! Wait!"
He turned around, slowly, feeling vaguely astonished, unreal and still desperately aware of every tiny detail of Harry's appearance, of the rain dripping off those silly glasses, of the wobbly cast to the mouth, which was turning as blue as his own.
Harry walked toward him, slowly, wavering only a very little. It hit Draco, quite suddenly, that Harry was drunk, and that seemed just the most hilarious thing all of a sudden, and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Of all the ironies. Here he was, painfully bloody sober for once in his life, and Harry looked like he could barely stay on his feet, much less process what was happening. Draco sighed. Did he need -another- sign that he should just stop while he was behind, or were about five hundred and twenty seven quite enough?
"Draco...," Harry began, looking like he was making quite the valiant effort. "Draco...."
"Harry," Draco agreed, not caring that he was being kind and soft and stupid and a million other things he could think of if he gave himself a minute. He was getting good at telling the little voices that came up with all that stuff to shut up. On some days, anyway.
"I... I don't know what to say," he managed finally. "I'm... drunk, and this is... this is... this makes no sense. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry. This is just... I can't... oh God...." He rolled his eyes up, staring at the now-dark sky, the rain most probably obliterating his vision. "But thank you. I just wanted to say that. Thank you."
"The roses were ruined. I'm sorry for that. Not the best beginning. Or ending, I guess," Draco said, and it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, doing this. But then, his whole body seemed to hurt, to feel hollow and somehow feverish, so he supposed he would notice the pain later. Or not. He was good at not noticing, after all. Lots of practice.
"I don't mean the roses, Draco." And Harry was looking at him again, really -looking-, and though Draco had thought he was prepared for that, he wasn't, he never had been. Now it was his turn to feel fragile and transparent, and he didn't like it, but he'd resolved to give Harry whatever he would ask for today, and so here he was, standing still. It probably wasn't enough, but then, nothing would be enough, he knew that.
"Oh," he breathed, trying not to look at Harry for some reason, but not being able to look away. The looking was something measurable these days. One more look, and another one in a month, or in two or three, or maybe never, who could tell. One gathered the things one had, and put them together, and tried to make something out of them, but all that ever resulted were yet more names for regret. "It's okay, Harry. You don't have to-- you don't have to do this. I'm sorry. I thought... I don't know what I thought. I was wrong, obviously. But if I never tried, I'd always wonder, though I knew. I'm not as oblivious as you think, Harry. I may be a lot of things, and I won't deny it, but I'm not blind. I know it's too late, and we are who are are, or maybe we're not who we were, not anymore. I don't know. But I know it's too late." Draco was feeling the words flow from him without volition, seeming hot and somehow liquid, and if he could have drowned in them, maybe he would have, but he probably wouldn't, and couldn't. And didn't. They were just words, and tears were only tears, and both would pass, mingling with the rain, sinking into the ground beneath their feet.
"No...," Harry began, because he was Harry Potter, and at his center he couldn't really accept hopelessness, not all the way to the core. He had to fight, he always did, even when he was on the losing side, and maybe then especially. Had Draco loved or hated that about him? As was usual when it came to his feelings towards Harry, it seemed to be both. Mostly it hurt to be on the losing side himself, along with Harry. Trapped there, walled in by impossibilities as if they were enchanted glass. It was unbearable.
"Yes. Yes, Harry. You lost, I lost, the game is over, eh? This is as good as it gets for us, isn't it? This is it." He had to say it. He had to. He had to. Right now, right this moment. He had to say it, Draco knew this. He would force himself. He had said whatever he planned on for all of his life, and this was no different. He could do this. Easy. "It's all right. Really. It's all right. Goodbye, Harry," Draco said, and his voice was even to his own amazement.
Harry's face crumpled, and he wasn't looking away, and neither was Draco, though he'd said his piece, and it was right about time to exit stage left. It was time to not notice the broken look sweeping over Harry's eyes, and to pretend like he was doing Harry a favor, his last grand gesture, this was all for Harry, because Harry wanted this, so he was going to give it to him, and that was that. Now if he could just -move-, then....
"No.... No. Draco. No," Harry whispered. "I meant-- what I meant was-- what I meant was, it's okay. You could-- you know-- come with me-- and dry off. And then.... Then... you could go. Dry. I can't let you do this. You'll catch your death like this."
Draco felt like laughing, somewhat bitterly, so he did. Harry flinched, and he couldn't be glad, but at least things were going according to plan again. "You don't have to worry, Potter. It's not your concern anymore. Besides, I'm a wizard, or have you forgotten? I can just apparate home at any time."
Harry was frowning, and looking at him with a strange light in his eyes, almost like he was trying to figure something out, and Draco didn't like it. He hadn't changed after all, he was, and always will be Draco Malfoy, and it's time he realized that himself. Malfoys didn't woo, and Malfoys did't say they were sorry, and Malfoys certainly didn't cry standing in the cold sodding -rain-, as their lovers rejected them, -again-.
"Home...." Harry said, almost inaudibly, a wondering look on his face. "Home used to be wherever you were, did you know that? It used to be. But then you left me. You left me, and I was alone, and I couldn't stand it, being home without you, especially if you seemed to be right there with me. It's more real now, see? I'm alone, just like I always was. And so are you."
"Harry. I'm here. I'm here now." And he couldn't stop himself saying that, and abandoning the plan -again-, any more than he could stop himself walking the few steps towards Harry again, and reaching out his hand toward Harry's, his fingers finding the other boy's instinctively, unerringly. "I don't know what home is, or if I'm worth finding there, but I just-- can't be without you. I've tried and I can't, I can't, it's been killing me, and I just -can't-, even though I want to, for you, for my pride, for a million stupid things, really I do. I love you, Harry." His eyes squeezed shut, he couldn't bear looking at Harry right now and he almost hated himself for that, but it was just too much. He squeezed Harry's bony fingers tighter within his own, and repeated it, again and again. "Love you. Love you. -Love you-."
"Draco."
Harry was sobbing openly now, and squeezing his hand harshly, but it could never be tight enough, could never be harsh enough, and if Draco's bones could break, then at least he could feel it, and maybe their love was strong enough for this.
"I have to go," Harry said, his voice low and raspy, and racked with choked-back sobs. Draco thought he would fall then, finally, because his legs weren't feeling up to holding him up all of a sudden. Maybe he'd fall hard enough that the world would fade, and he could sleep. Sleeping might not be one of his favored solutions, but it seemed to work right at the moment. He hadn't slept for so long. It couldn't have just been days. Maybe it was weeks, or months. Or perhaps it was, more precisely, half a year that he'd spent tossing and turning, his body seeking a familiar warmth it never found. He had finally decided, after yet another consecutive night of sleepless, sexless wakefulness, with all the staring at the ceiling and the picturing Harry naked with that stupid little man, and the thoughts of them whenever he tried to sleep or eat or shower or think or fuck, which had put him off touching anyone, including himself. He had decided he had had enough. Harry had to come back, for real this time.
"Draco, come back. I'll come back, tomorrow. I'll come back, do you hear me?" Harry was saying something, quite urgently, shaking him, but Draco seemed to be floating away, hallucinating like he'd begun to recently, because what Harry was saying made no sense anymore, and a part of Draco was glad at this, this letting go. It felt pleasant.
"Harry?" he said groggily, blinking a bit at the rain, which was easing up now, though it was still managing to drip annoyingly off his eyelashes, down his cheeks somehow. It felt warm now though. Warm and salty, and he couldn't think why.
"Will you come back too?" Harry was saying. Oh yes, it made sense. It made perfect sense, even if he couldn't believe it, and he could only shake his head in amazement.
"You have to, goddamn you, don't you bail on me again, I can't handle it, you fucking bastard. You -have- to. Say you'll come back here, tomorrow morning. Say you'll be here. Say it, Draco." Harry's eyes were flashing fierce like they used to, and he didn't seem at all drunk anymore, Draco noticed with some wonderment. Now it was him again, being the one about to disintegrate, and everything was right in the world, though not really back to normal. It couldn't be. It had to not be. Harry would make him wake up, and no one had to be the hero, did they? Maybe Harry could just wake him up because he loved him.
Draco swallowed, and it was painful, and his mouth seemed stiff and almost impossible to move, and it took -effort-, but he said it. He said it slowly, carefully folding his lips around the words, trying them out as he said them. "Will you be here?"
"Of -course-, you idiot, didn't I just -say- that?" Apparently, Harry had overcome his fragility, because he was being familiar and irritable again. Which suited Draco just fine, actually.
The smile felt foreign to Draco's mouth, but he liked the strange, uncomfortable feeling of his mouth moving slowly, stretching around his teeth. He hoped he didn't look too unbecoming, but it didn't really matter, he supposed. "You did," he said, nodding. Harry was glaring. Draco, to his increasing surprise, was grinning, if a bit manically. He laughed a little, but it sounded more like he was choking. He realized Harry's hand was still in his own, and that seemed hilarious for some reason.
"If you will, I will." Draco looked into Harry's eyes, peering behind the rain-slick, fogged-up glass. He thought he saw something, and it was enough, whether it was an understanding, or a beginning, or possibly just hope.
~~
and, silvia?? i now ship draco/dumbledore. this is all your fault -.-
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Re: Rose Red
Date: 2003-01-22 06:36 pm (UTC)hee. i would suppose that this wasn't very canon, as is typical for my stuff. h/d angst + canon don't mix too well. well, this sort of angst, anyway. luuurve angst.
but i'm glad i didn't fail utterly ^^