Got inspired by @academicdisasterfic writing Spotify wrapped micros and felt like joining in ⨠my #2: Too Sweet by Hozier
Another mocha. Draco can hardly believe it. Two whole weeks.
âThanks, Danny.â Harryâs smile is practiced, believable even. Danny, the latest doe-eyed champion to attempt courting Harry Potter, blows him a kiss before slinking out of the room.
Harry wraps his hands around the paper cup for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before handing it wordlessly to Draco.
âYou could tell him,â Draco says.
âThat you donât like these.â
âWhy? Heâs doing a nice thing.â
âHeâs trying to earn your favour and attention, with nothing but misinformation. Tell him exactly how to please you or tell him to fuck off.â Draco sighs, taking a long swig of mostly-chocolate. Delicious. âItâs sad, watching you string these poor bastards along.â
âYouâre being ungrateful, you know.â Harryâs smirking at him, green eyes filled with sleepy mischief that makes Draco hurt a little. His white shirt is open one button more than is appropriate. âHow else are you going to get your fancy coffees every morning?â
âI can manage just fine, thank you.â
âBesides. âTell him exactly how to please meâ? No one needs or wants to know all that. Not to mention itâs an HR investigation waiting to happen.â
Draco sets down his unearned coffee and opens a drawer in his desk, pulling out an almost identical takeaway cup. He flicks his wand to remove the warming charms, then levitates it to the other desk, where it alights in front of a bewildered Harry.
Harry looks at the cup, then at Draco, back to the cup. He laughs, unsure, gingerly prying open the lid to peer inside, looking back at Draco again, glasses fogged and eyebrows questioning.
âYou take it black, Potter,â Draco says, matter-of-fact. He slips his reading glasses out of his chest pocket and places them on his nose, grabbing a file to look at anything else. âAnd preferably in bed. You work best at night, when no one can call upon you. You donât shower after flying because you like the smell. You say you donât want flowers but always stop to look at them. You donât like to be touched except by about three people. You wonât correct your suitors because you have a traumatic relationship with service. You donât hum unless Queen comes onââ
âOkayâ!â Harry interrupts him, one hand lifting from the warm cup. âI get it.â He hadnât taken his eyes off Draco, an unmistakable feeling. Draco feels his cheeks heating, which is even more embarrassing; he hadnât meant to say quite that much, just trying to make a point, and Harry adds, âNo, actually, I donât get it.â
Draco glances at him over his glasses. He looks curious, a little concerned. Still that hint of a smile at the corner of his eyes, a sweet, wicked glee. Tiny stripes of silver sprouting in the black curls at his temples. That damn shirt, the vee of his broad chest, that stupid, mouthwatering collarbone, just under the tendons of his stupid neck.
âNo, Potter,â Draco mutters, turning back to his work and his fancy coffee, his cheeks infuriatingly warm. âClearly, you donât.â
