a crooked love in a straight line down
This is for my sweetest friend @written-in-ash. Lyssa I love you so much and I'm incredibly proud of you. Here's to celebrating you, my lovely fandom little sister. Here's some angst, just for you.
Based on the song "I Wish You Would" by Taylor Swift.
CW: break up/make up, angst with a happy ending.
Harry's gotten very good at existing.
He gets up and goes to work each day. He smiles at his co-workers, laughs with Ron and Hermione over lunch at the Ministry cafeteria, and turns in his paperwork on time.
He leaves the office each day and floos home, where there's little to distract him from the heartbreak on the periphery of his attention. He's gotten good at blocking it out during the day; Harry's a master at suppressing his emotions when there's a job to do or someone to hide from, but when he's alone, there's nothing to stop the anguish from washing over him, hot tears running down his cheeks.
It's his own fault, too. He's kept the flat largely the same since Draco left, off to an exciting new potions research position in Canada. Harry tells himself it's because he hasn't had the time to get rid of it all; he's been busy, after all, and it's only been six weeks.
But that doesn't explain why he keeps buying Draco's favorite tea. Why he sleeps in the pajamas Draco bought for him. Why he hasn't thrown out Draco's hair brush or even moved it from its spot on the counter.
He should wipe the flat clear of anything that reminds him of Draco and find someone new. He should stop avoiding pub nights with his friends in favor of wallowing in his flat.
Maybe then he'll finally stop missing Draco with a bone-deep ache that leaves him breathless. Maybe he'll stop being so pathetic, crying and curled up on the sofa like he is now, wearing a t-shirt Draco left behind. Maybe he'll finally move on like Draco surely has with some fit Canadian man who speaks French and probably has a mustache.
Not that Harry's thought about it.
There's a knock at the door. Harry groans to himself, wondering why the world is interrupting his scheduled wallowing time. He turns over onto his stomach, grabbing a pillow and holding it over his head. The knocking turns more insistent, so with a grunt, he forces himself off the couch and over to the door, wiping his cheeks and running a hand through his hair, ready to tell whoever this is to leave him the fuck alone.
He opens the door. "What do you wa—nt?" Harry's voice cracks. "Draco," he breathes. He blinks back the tears already starting to well up again.
Draco looks infuriatingly good, wearing pressed trousers and a button-down shirt with a long trench coat. Harry resents his own joggers and the t-shirt, cheeks heating as he remembers who it belongs to.
"Hi, Harry," Draco says softly. "How are you?"
Harry crosses his arms. "I'm fine," he says, trying to keep his voice even. "What are you doing here?"
Draco bites his lip. "May I come in?"
Harry considers closing the door; he thinks about telling Draco 'no' and shutting him out of his life for good. He thinks about creating his own closure, earning back a scintilla of pride.
He also thinks about stepping aside to let Draco in. He thinks about Draco looking around as he enters, taking in every detail. Harry can see him cataloging every detail, searching for ways it's changed since he left. Harry hates him for it a little, even in his own imagination.
Instead, he says, "Answer my question first. What are you doing here?"
Draco swallows. "I hated Canada."
Draco runs a hand through his hair, beginning to pace on the small doorway. "I thought that was what I wanted. That's one of the most prestigious potions programs in the bloody world, and they accepted me, and I—I thought I had no choice but to go."
"But you did," Harry says, not caring how bitter he sounds. "You had every choice in the world."
"Yes, I did," Draco mutters. "I did have a choice. I left, and I broke both our hearts in the process. I was an idiot. I could've tried getting over us, but I realized I just don't want to. It took spending six agonizing weeks on the other side of the world to realize that no job, no opportunity," he says the word with disdain, "is worth losing you." He looks at Harry with wide, pleading eyes. "I'm sorry, and I love you," he whispers. "I'm here. I'm home. If you'll have me."
Harry's gripping the doorframe for support, his eyes welling up with tears of relief; a release of anger and hope and love all in one. He doesn't stop one from sliding down his cheek, watching as Draco's own eyes grow teary.
Harry steps back, leaving room for Draco to walk through the threshold. Heart in his throat, he says, "Welcome home."
