"You can't just kiss me every time you want me to stop talking."
"You can't just kiss me every time you want me to stop talking."
Harry's words were muffled against Draco's mouth, a half-hearted protest breaking into a laugh. Draco pulled back just enough to smirk, thumb brushing against Harry's jaw.
"Seems to work rather well, though," Draco murmured.
Harry rolled his eyes, but his face felt hotter, betraying him by burning red. "That's not the point—"
Another kiss, slow and soft, and Harry promptly forgot what he'd been trying to argue about.
Harry froze mid-laugh. Draco's words hung in the air, quiet and incomprehensible.
"What?"
Draco shrugged. "Forget it."
"No." Harry leaned closer, searching Draco's face. "What did you mean?"
Draco fiddled with his cufflink. "It's softer. Like you're not… carrying the weight of the entire wizarding world."
Harry frowned. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For once, he had no words to say.
"It's not like it's a bad thing," Draco added quickly. "But it's true, isn't it? In here, when it's just us, you're real."
"I'm not real when it's not just us?" Harry's voice was puzzled, yet slightly amused, too.
"That's not what I mean, idiot." Draco sneered, shoving Harry on the shoulder. Harry rubbed the spot with a grimace. "What I am trying to say is, in public, whatever you do, you're doing it as Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived, the chosen one, titles and titles, whatever the Daily Prophet decides to call you these days."
He waved a hand in the air as he went on and on, watching as Harry's brows raised, trying to see where this was going. "But in here," He gestured at the room around them. "When it's just you and me, you're just Harry."
"I'm just Harry?" Harry repeated, yet it came out more as a question than a statement.
"Yes."
"Oh."
--------
Fluff does not seem to come as naturally as angst does unfortunately
"Put your arm around me," Draco hissed, teeth bared in what the tavern owner would hopefully think was a smile.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"We're supposed to be married, Potter. Married people do not stand three feet apart as though they've just been introduced."
Reluctantly, Harry slung an arm around Draco's shoulders. To his surprise, Draco didn't stiffen. Instead, he leaned in just enough to murmur, "Convincing. Keep it up."
----------
Might use the continuation of the undercover scene for a future NSFW day later uwu
Harry teaching Draco how to ride a Muggle bicycle.
"Honestly, Potter, this contraption looks like it's designed to kill me."
Harry tried—and failed—to keep a straight face as Draco glared down at the bicycle like it had personally insulted him.
"It's not that hard," Harry said, steadying the handlebars. "Just keep your balance and pedal."
Draco muttered something about uncivilized Muggle inventions, but mounted anyway, legs stiff, back way too straight. The moment the bike wobbled, he let out a yelp.
Harry hurried alongside, one hand on Draco's back. "You've got it, you're fine— don't look down!"
Draco's knuckles were white on the grips, but after a shaky few feet, the bike began to steady. His eyes widened. "I'm—I'm actually—"
Harry grinned. "Told you."
He slowly pulled his hand away, letting Draco pedal on his own for a few feet before realizing Harry was not holding him anymore.
Of course, right after realizing that, Draco promptly tipped sideways into the grass, robes tangling in the spokes. Harry doubled over laughing until Draco threw a handful of grass at him, his words a mixture of insults and demands to not laugh.
