Here I am again, ignoring my inbox but instead struck with sudden longing and feelings, so enjoy a short ass drarry drabble that I am writing directly into the new post without double checking anything 😎
He didn’t know exactly what it was, but it was always easier for Draco to be honest in the soft cover of night. The moon held no secrets from him, and he was already written in the stars. Draco could lie, surely he was a master at that. He could lie to himself, but he could never quite bring himself to lie the image of him in the stars. He guessed that somewhere within him, he felt he would one day be deserving of more than that.
So he told the truth in the dark, under covers. Harry had to have been aware by now, and he was as clever a liar as Draco, but Draco was grateful for the way Harry pretended to sleep, and never said anything in the morning. With a sleep warmed Harry in his arms, Draco would trace the pulse on Harry’s wrist with feather light touches, and breath simple kisses to his mop of hair. And then he would start.
Draco says I love you to Harry three times each day. Once in the morning, through forehead kisses and a cup of tea, with a splash of milk and three sugars. This is for Harry, for who he knows actions speak louder than words. He doesn’t plan on stopping.
He says I love you after their lunch, through the phone or in person. This is number two, and it is for the world. It brings a smile to Harry that quirks the lips of his friends, and the world is content to leave them alone if they can hear the love between them.
Number three is for Draco, and it is a confession. Draco could speak for hours upon days upon weeks upon years, and he would never run out of confessions for Harry.
Tonight, Draco breaths in with his nose pressed firmly to Harry’s hair. It grounds him, and with his eyes on the moon peaking from behind the drapes, he whispers.
“Sometimes, I don’t think my life started before I held you in my arms. It must not have. Because nothing feels as real, as visceral as you. Merlin, sometimes I can’t breath when I look at you. Sometimes I have to stop myself from feeling entirely, before I get crushed.” He’s stroking Harry’s soft skin now, and Draco scrunches yo his face. “Sometimes I cry. And I don’t know what for. Sadness at thinking I might be without you. Happiness to know I have you. Sheer longing, even when you’re right here, in my arms.” Draco’s hold is tight now, but Harry keeps breathing, so he keeps going. “I’m afraid it won’t ever be enough. I’m too greedy, too selfish. I need too much of you, and even if you wanted to leave, sometimes I’m not sure if I could let you go.”
He’s loosing some control he thinks, and stops. He’s confessed enough for tonight. Enough to where his heart won’t burst in the morning, at least. So he sighs and closes his eyes as a cloud drifts over the moon. Harry is warm in his arms, and if Harry is holding him a little tighter than when he first started talking, he just attributes it to the tight hold he has on his heart.
