Crowds had never been something Harry liked. Too many people, too many stares and too many comments. It just got worse when he had James. If people wanted to stare at him then fine, but they did not have to stare at his son.
“Please? I’ll clean my room.”
Harry eyed Imaginary Playground—an insanely packed store—with trepidation before he looked down into wide green eyes.
“Your room is already clean.”
“I’ll clean your room then.”
Harry couldn’t stop the smile that spread as James clapped his hands together and moved his feet rapidly in an odd dance.
“You are such a brat.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Why do you want to go in there? You have toys at home that you don’t even play with.”
James crossed his arms and harrumphed. “I don’t want any new toys.”
Suspicion rose at how earnest James seemed. A child turning down toys? His child turning down toys—unlikely.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to ask the owner about the dragons out front,” James pointed to enlarged wooden carvings that roared when people were rude and preened when called cute.
“We’re not buying one.” He looked inside the shop windows and eyed the crowd again. It wasn’t until he caught sight of a familiar mop of blond hair that he couldn’t use the crowd as an excuse. He didn’t want to go in because of the owner.
“Dad.” It was said with such a heavy sigh that Harry snorted. “I don’t want one.”
He was still suspicious but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for James, and unfortunately, that included talking to Malfoy.
Draco was tired, it was his third day in a row working a 14-hour shift and he had a semi-permanent headache that refused to leave. Thank Merlin his assistant manager was coming back from vacation tomorrow.
A glance at the gaudy clock Pansy had gifted him last year said he only had an hour left. One hour, he could do it.
“Please don’t eat the building blocks,” Draco said without looking away from the clock. “They are rather sensitive and tend to cry.”
“Sowwy.”
Draco peered over the counter until he could see the child who still had his lips resting on the blocks that were now floating. Typically, his building blocks were picky with who could play with them but the pair in the boys’ hands let him slobber all over them and still remained.
“Tell you what, you tell your parents that I said you could have that at a discounted price, okay?”
The child’s eyes widened, and he smiled a toothy grin that made Draco want to give him the blocks for free. He watched the child run off to his Mum and not for the first time he was grateful for what he did.
“Excuse me?”
Draco straightened up, a little bummed that his brief moment of peace was over.
“Oh,” he said as he realized who was in front of him. It wasn’t often Potter came in; most of the time it was his kid that did.
Potter smiled but it was a bit of a grimace and his hand was on the back of his neck. James, however, was waving and smiling so widely that his eyes crinkled.
“I know you are busy, but my son had a question and he’s persistent.”
“Dad.” The whine was cute, but the way Potter smiled at James was even cuter.
Draco leaned on the counter as he looked down. “What were you wanting to know James?”
James pointed at his chest as he whispered, “You know my name?”
“I sure do,” Draco said with a chuckle. “You come in here enough. How are the miniature dragons you bought last week doing? Did your stepdad like the one you picked out?”
A small gasp left James as he scooted closer to the counter and placed his hands on top.
“You remember what I said?”
Draco leaned over the counter till his face was closer. “I remember all of my favourite customers.”
James looked down as his foot rubbed into the floor and he let out a soft laugh. There was a redness to his cheeks, and it melted Draco’s heart.
“Thank you,” Potter said, and the quiet tone drew Draco’s attention. He wasn’t sure what to do with the gentle way Potter regarded him or the small smile on his face.
An ‘oomf’ left Potter as James nudged him hard in the side.
“Right, James wants to know if your dragons out front are safe.”
“What?” Draco’s brows furrowed before he looked out the window to make sure his displays were still there.
“He wants to know how you decide which dragons get to be inside and which ones get to be outside since it’s winter and whether they are safe.”
Draco was positive his entire being had melted. When James nodded, lip worried between his teeth and a sad expression on his face, he wanted to coo.
“I don’t know if you know this,” Draco began quietly as James perked up. “But I made each one of those dragons. It took quite a long time and during the process, I knew that I could never sell them. They mean a lot to me and I wanted them to represent my shop, so I placed a few outside and a few inside.”
“They are pretty.”
“Thank you,” Draco said with a grin as he ruffled James’ already messy hair. “The dragons take turns rotating. I promise you that they are safe and are equally outside.”
James pursed his lips as his forehead wrinkled. “But what if they get cold?”
“I’ll take care of them.”
James nodded so fast that his hair fell forward, and Draco reached out to move his hair out of his eyes.
“Thank you,” James mumbled, eyes on the counter.
“Yes,” Potter said softly as he picked up one of James’ hands. “Thank you for indulging us despite being so busy.”
So polite. Was that Potter’s doing? Were all Potters polite?
Draco reached underneath the counter and pulled out a block of wood before he held out his hand.
“Me?” James asked, eyes wide.
“You.” Draco placed the block on James' hand and pulsed his magic into a small zap.
James gasped when Draco’s hand was removed, and the wood began to expand and twist.
“It’s a dragon!” James cried as his mouth fell open. The dragon was small, but it was a deep blue with grey stripes along the talons.
“Last week when you came in, you got your stepdad, Mum and cousins dragons but you never got yourself one. Why is that?”
“I didn’t have enough allowance.”
“I thought so.” Draco murmured. “So that’s why I made this one for you.”
James hugged the dragon to his chest and let out a giggle when the dragon licked his chin and let out a soft roar. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mister Malfoy!”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Potter said. “I would have gotten him one if he wanted.”
“I know,” and he did, Potter was soft like that. “I wanted to. I told you he was my favourite,” he winked and when Potter flushed, Draco grinned.
Cute.
“What do I have to do to be your favourite?” Potter asked, brows arched and a teasing smile on his face.
“Come see me more often.”
“That’s a ploy to get me to spend money.”
“Good things don’t come cheap.”
Potter laughed, the sound so free and it was something Draco wanted to bottle and examine. It was something he wanted to make come to life. His mind never stopped wanting to create things and his magic was itching to carve something.
“Alright, I’ll stop by again.”
Before Draco could say that he looked forward to it, Potter rubbed the back of his neck again.
“And maybe it could be after hours? When it’s just the two of us.”
“Are you asking Mister Malfoy on a date?” James said loudly, far too loud to not have been heard.
Potter covered his face with his hands.
“Yeah, Potter, are you asking me out?”
“I’m trying to.”
Draco was horribly endeared by Potter. James had melted his heart and if Potter wasn’t careful, he’d steal his heart too.
But as Potter peeked through his fingers, face red and eyes soft, Draco realized that was okay.
Potter could have his heart.
“Yes, I’d love to.”
It wasn’t until several soft gazes and shy smiles later that Potter and James turned to leave the store.
“You still have to clean my room,” Draco could hear Potter say.
“I was just kidding!” Potter cried as the dragon started to chase him and James’ laughter rang out before the door closed and the murmurs of the store was all he could hear.
As Draco looked around his shop, he could see boxes that needed to be picked up, areas that needed to be disinfected, messes that would take hours and still far too many customers to get out on time, but that was okay.
This was his life and he loved it.
=========
This was inspired by a tumblr post that I will link in the comments. I would like to thank @random-realist for the quick beta, thank you so much!
They don't need to sleep, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley, but Aziraphale knows how much Crowley enjoys that particular human activity, almost as much as he enjoys eating, so he let him sleep to his heart content every time he wants.
At first, Aziraphale choses to get out of the bedroom as soon as Crowley's breathe get a rhythmic compass, but when he realizes he doesn't have to restrain himself anymore, he starts to stay. He starts by sitting on the couch, close enough to say they're together but far enough, at the same time, not to disturb Crowley's sleep. He reads quietly for hour and hours until the demon's gaze become so penetrant over him that he can't ignore it. Then, he lowers whatever book he's been reading, gives him his brightest smile, and walks to the bed to let a 'morning kiss on his cheek.
That's their routine for days, and days become weeks, and the spend nap time like this until, one day, Aziraphale decides he doesn't want to be that far from his love and starts reading on bed, right next to Crowley's lax body. It's hard to turn pages as he's trying not to move one single muscle, but as he, immerse in the story between his hands, stops caring about it, he could see how Crowley doesn't even bother with his movements, so he allows himself to get more comfortable with both, the position and the idea of stay that close.
But years of painful restrain have made him thirsty for physical contact, and it doesn't pass much days before he starts to dismiss his book for a moment each ten pages or so to gently caress his love's cheek with his fingertips, being initially afraid of wake him and then overwhelmed by the absolute confidence he has to sleep that deeply knowing that he's right next to him. And then, all fear in his touch disappears to give way to the purest feeling of devotion for the being that have chosen him over everything on the whole world, over Hell, over Heaven, over destiny. Crowley sighs, and Aziraphale discovers a new hobby, pretty much funnier than reading: looking Crowley sleep.
So, the next times they go to bed together for Crowley to take a nap, he doesn't even carries a book with him. In a newly established ritual, Crowley gives him a chaste kiss, that he's happy to return, and that single kiss becomes a battle to be the first in cover the other's face with kisses. As they continue, time between each kiss increases until Crowley falls asleep and Aziraphale, silently, proclaims himself winner. The prize comes to him almost immediately, when he rests his body against the headboard and Crowley wraps his arms around his waist. And when Crowley's head is resting on his lap, that's all he need to convince that what they have right now is better than whatever Heaven could have had to offered him.
This is his own Heaven, or his own Hell, and it worth all the time they had to wait to be where they are. It worth all the times they had have to restrain, or lie to each other, or lie to themselves, in order to protect his friendship. It worth the pain, the 'loneliness' -that has never been such a thing- the rejection from their respective sides. It worth it all, and he would pass through it all again just to have a brief moment like that one, looking at his love sleeping serenely, lying by his side.
Me arrastei mais para dentro da casa na arvore, não era uma casa na arvore grande, mas era o meu paraíso, ou melhor nosso paraíso.-Você não acha que esta na hora de mudar esse apelido? – disse ela e eu sorri
-Não consigo mudar, você é a coisa mais linda que eu já vi na vida, não me condene por dizer isso quando posso.
Ela segurou meu rosto com as mãos e eu olhei bem em seus olhos, foi o suficiente, nossos lábios se tocaram e todos os meus pensamentos se foram. Não tinha mais Seleção, não tinha mais família, só havia nós dois. Minhas mãos passaram por seus cabelos pretos, ainda úmidos do banho. Nós nos afastamos e eu não consegui esconder o sorriso.
-Desculpe, não estou de bom humor hoje. É que recebemos aquele aviso idiota pelos correios.
-Ah sim, a carta – Rebecca suspirou se sentando – Também recebemos.
Rebecca tinha um irmão mais novo, claro que ele também recebeu a maldita carta.
Ficamos conversando, vazia uma semana que não nós víamos e isso bastava para deixar os dois ansiosos, enquanto Rebecca contava como estavam as coisas em sua casa, fiquei a observando, sue vestido estava gasto por conta da “profissão”. Rebecca trabalhava como ajudante de limpeza e por conta disso não podíamos ter um relacionamento, pois éramos de profissões diferentes e minha mãe não aprovaria nem por um decreto, pois ela queria uma vida melhor pro filho e blá, blá.
-E o que você acha da Seleção? – perguntei
-Eu acho normal, a princesa precisa de um marido – disse sarcástica.
-Rebecca, quero sua opinião verdadeira.
-Tudo bem – suspirou – Por um lado eu acho meio depressivo, poxa ela precisa de uma seleção pra sair com alguém? Será que ela não conhece nenhum cara legal na vida no castelo? Eles não casam princesas com príncipes, porque com a Princesa Elisa tem que ser diferente? Não entendo – fez uma pausa – Por outro lado, acho uma ideia boa, e ate mesmo emocionante. Ele vai se apaixonar na frente de seu povo.
-Então você vai incentivar seu irmão ir pro castelo?
-Sim, quero dizer, já vimos à princesa algumas vezes e ela parece ser uma pessoa legal e também não posso negar que vai ser bom pra família.
Ficamos em silencio por uns instantes.
-Niall?
-Sim?- sussurrei
-Você vai entrar na Seleção?
-Não, claro que não! Não quero que as pessoas pensem que considero a hipótese de me casar com uma estranha
-Você quer ser musico pra sempre? Estar sempre faminto? Sempre preocupado?
-Rebecca vamos ficar bem – disse, desejando que isso realmente fosse verdade.
-Você sabe que as coisas não vão ser assim pra sempre Nini, Eu ainda teria que sustentar minha família, porque você sabe que não posso abandona-los – suspirou – E se tivermos filhos...
-Quando tivermos filhos, vamos ter dois, vamos tomar cuidado para não passar disso – disse a abraçando.
-Você sabe que isso é uma coisa que não podemos controlar Niall
De novo veio o silencio. Nenhum dos dois sabia ao certo o que dizer. Rebbeca era passional: às vezes se exaltava. Talvez eu tivesse esperança demais, talvez estivesse apaixonado demais, mais sim eu acreditava que podíamos planejar uma vida juntos.
-Eu acho que você deveria...
-Deveria o que Rebecca?
-Participar da Seleção
-Você esta maluca? Não vou participar – disse furioso
-Me escuta Nini – disse me olhando e passando as mãos em meu rosto – Se você pudesse melhorar de vida e não aproveitasse por minha causa, eu nunca me perdoaria.
-Mas que ridículo, pense nos milhares de rapazes que vão participar, não vou ser nem sorteado.
Minha mãe estava em êxtase quando pegamos a carta no correio. Ela já tinha feito todos os planos, e com isso todos os nossos problemas tinham acabado, ela só não contava que eu ~a peça principal de seu plano~ não estava nenhum pouco afim de assinar aquela papelada.
Não quero ser da realeza. Não quero mudar de cidade. Não quero ir pro castelo.
Me escondi no meu quarto o resto da tarde, o único lugar onde posse fugir do falatório. Passei a tarde toda pensando em argumentos que fizessem minha mãe mudar de ideia, mas ate agora não encontrei nenhuma, na verdade tudo o que vinha na minha cabeça era minha sincera opinião e acho que minha atual situação não ajuda, Eu teria que ir pra essa merda de Seleção.
Eu não conseguiria escapar por muito mais tempo da minha mãe, e sendo o filho mais velho que ainda morava em casa, tinha que ajudar a preparar o jantar e não estava nem um pouco feliz com essa ideia, e se eu fugisse? Nossa Niall, onde você moraria.
A preparação e o janta foi silencioso, minha mãe me repreendia com o olhar, será que ela não vai desistir?
-Você vai morrer se preencher o formulário? – disse ela sem se aguentar – A Seleção pode ser uma oportunidade maravilhosa pra você, para todos nos.
Suspirei alto, pensando que sim, seria minha morte preencher aquele formulário.
-Filho você sabe que se não preencher o formulário da Seleção vai ter que preencher o formulário da guerra –
Mal sabe ela que nesse momento eu estou quase com a segunda opção, e se não fosse o bastante minha mãe resolveu mexer com o meu ponto fraco.
-Os últimos anos tem sido difíceis para seu pai – minha mãe disse levantando – Se você tiver um pouco de compaixão vai penar nele – e ela conseguiu me deixar mal, só de pensar em meu pai meu peito doe.
Meu pai sim precisava da minha ajuda, e eu queria muito ajuda-lo, mais só de pensar os motivos que me fazem querer ficar meu sorriso se espalha e meu peito doe mais ainda, não quero ter que escolher entre meus motivos e ajudar meu pai.
Fiquei pensando se meu pai veria a Seleção como forma de ajudar tudo, se ele pensaria igual a minha mãe, que acha que dinheiro vai fazer com que nossas vidas mudem, éramos músicos e com isso o dinheiro mal dava pra pagar as contas, quando eu vi as coisas desse jeito a Seleção parecia à única opção, aquela carta idiota talvez me tirasse do fundo do poço, então poderia puxar minha família comigo.
Eu observava minha mãe, para uma mãe de cinco filhos, ela ate que estavam bem robusta, os cabelos dela eram castanhos igual aos meus, mas cheios de cabelos brancos, embora ainda fosse bastante jovem, eu podia reparar que ela circulava pela cozinha com as costas curvadas, como se carregasse um peso invisível nas costas.
Eu sabia que minha mãe sentia um grande peso nas costas, e sabia que foi por isso que ela passou a tentar me manipular sempre que podia, e sabia também que ela estava me achando um infantil por não preencher um simples formulário.
Só que ela não sabia das coisas que me prendiam no vilarejo – coisas que eu amava – e aquela folha de papel se erguia como um muro entre eu e o que eu queria. Não estava a fim de sacrificar meus sonhos, independentemente do quanto minha família fosse importante pra mim, já tinha feito muito por eles.
Eu era o filho mais velho, depois que Greg se casou e Brett saiu de casa, assumi meu novo papel o mais rápido possível, fazia de tudo pra ajudar em casa, estudava nos horários que arranjava entre os ensaios – que me tomavam a maior parte do meu dia – Mas com a chegada da carta, todos os meus esforços perderam sentido, na cabeça da minha mãe eu já era o marido da princesa.
A meia noite pareceu uma eternidade, dei uma ultima olhada no espelho e sai, passei nas pontas dos pês na cozinha fazendo o mínimo barulho possível, peguei minhas sobra do jantar, um pedaço de pão que estava quase estragando e uma maça, voltei pro quarto a passos mais silenciosos do que tinha ido pra cozinha, abri a janela com todo o cuidado, a lua quase não tinha brilho e precisei de um tempo pra que meus olhos se acostumassem. Do outro lado do gramado era possível ver a silhueta da casa da arvore, olhei para os lados, as luzes das casas vizinhas já estavam apagadas e não tinha ninguém vendo, sai pela janela com cuidado. Eu costumava ficar com a barriga toda arranhada por causa da maneira como me arrastava pra fora, mais agora sabia exatamente como sair sem se machucar.
Acelerei pelo gramado, e escalei as ripas na arvore, não era uma distancia muito grande, mais ali eu tinha sensação de deixar os problemas a quilômetros de distancia, entrei naquela pequena caixa sabendo que não estava sozinho, alguém estava do outro lado, ou melhor, ela estava do outro lado.
Tudo começou quando Elise Chambers – futura rainha da Bélgica – completou 19 anos e com isso ela terá que arrumar um marido
Para que ela conseguia o marido “perfeito”, seu pai o rei Philippe II, estava organizando uma Seleção, onde 35 jovens rapazes passariam algum tempo com a princesa e apenas um se tornara seu marido e companheiro.
~Enquanto isso no vilarejo~
Niall não queria de jeito nenhum participar dessa seleção para ser marido da princesa, mais sua mãe muito ambiciosa estava forçando o filho a assinar a papelada.
-Você não tem escolha, Niall – disse Maura sua mãe – Você já parou pra pensar em como nossa vida se tornara muito melhor – disse ela acariciando a bochecha do filho – Vamos nos tornar Realeza se você conseguir conquistar a princesa.
-Você só pensa em melhorar de vida mãe, você parou pra pensar que eu não quero ir nessa merda de seleção? – disse Niall se trancando no quarto
O que acontecera na vida da Elise, será que ela conseguira encontrar o marido perfeito? Ou será que essa Seleção será um fracasso?
Niall vai assinar a papelada e fazer o gosto da mãe? Será que ele vai conseguir abandonar a sua vida no vilarejo e seguir pro castelo?
What about Castiel sensing Dean’s pain and feeling hopeless for not being able to take it away from him.. he would come closer to the man from behind, Dean wouldn’t notice because his walk is so smooth and light. Castiel would stand behind the chair Dean sits on and would press the palm of his hand on the spot where the hair begins on his neck. He would gently go up and fist every single strand he comes across with his fingers, just to go back down and do it all over again. Up untill Dean would carelessly turn his head and look up at him, the weight of the world on his shoulders clenching his mind and spirit, leaving him empty and in agony. However, not even a split of second before his eyes met the ones of the angel that the warm hand belonged to, lips were pressing on his dry chapped ones. Stubble would roughly scratch and hurt, the gentle hand no longer caressing but pulling, forcing his neck to arch backwards and give in to that inhuman force. He would sigh and protest loudly within the confines of his mind, but his hands wouldn’t react and reach for Castiel. As soon as it’d start, it would be over. The angel would pull away slightly, sealing his farewell with the ghost touch of his tongue on Dean’s now wet and bright red lips. Their foreheads would press against each other, the hand would stop pulling at the strands and massage lightly that part of his head on which it had stopped instead. It would leave heat that’d stay with Dean for a while. Then, Castiel would be gone and Dean left to wonder if there was more to it.. because he sure as hell wanted there to be.
