rurounihime: (Default)
In response to [livejournal.com profile] switchknife's Dysfunctionalia Challenge

DISCLAIMER: These boys are JK's, much to my chagrin. SLASH.

Here goes...


It was still dark when Harry pulled himself up off the couch and stood. The room was full of cold pockets of air, the blanket slung around his shoulders suddenly thin. There was an eerie silence that told him how early it was. He rubbed a hand over his forehead and found himself interested by the blue morning shadows slipping across his palm.

He shrugged the blanket more tightly around him and left the room. His feet took him to the same place every morning, just as they left him in the same room night after night after night, when he was finally able to fall and sleep and not think anymore. Harry made his way up the stairs and down the short hallway to the half-open door of his bedroom. But by all rights, it wasn't really his anymore.

Draco was still asleep, lying on his stomach. The duvet was pooled around his waist, his back bare, despite the chill. One of the pillows had flopped over the back of his head, shadowing the pale skin of his face. Or maybe Draco had settled it there to block out the light before falling to sleep. Harry moved from the doorway to the bedside and lifted the fluffy pillow away.

It felt damp.

Harry's eyes fell on his lover's face. Long eyelashes, the smooth cast to his skin, the look of a sleeper. One of his hands was settled lightly next to his mouth, fingers tucked against a palm. Harry looked away.

He walked over to the closet, letting his blanket drop, and just stared at his clothing. Hanging side by side with Draco's pristine white shirts, elegant black coats. He reached out and laid a tentative finger against the wool of one of them. The material was cold.

"I'm not cheating on you, Harry."

Harry did not turn at Draco's quiet voice. He heard his lover shift in the bed behind him, most likely sitting up. He knew he was being looked at, but could not bring himself to look back.

"I know."

He could almost see the sad frown on Draco's face, the way he looked down at the white sheets as if there were an answer there. Draco would be picking at the sheets with absent fingers. Harry had seen him do it in his sleep once or twice.

"Then what's..."

The other man trailed off. Harry turned and saw Draco's fingers entwined in white fabric. By all rights he should have looked like an angel to Harry, half exposed, wrapped haphazardly in winding white from the waist down. But he didn't.

"I..."

No words came, as per usual. Instead Harry turned and pulled down an old brown coat from his side of the closet. He pulled it over his shoulders and took his gloves from the pocket. With one more glance at Draco, Harry left the room. He went downstairs and tugged his boots on over his socks, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the blast of cold air.

It had snowed the night before, a thin dusted carpeting over the dead grass. Harry went slowly down the long street scuffing at what he could find with his boots, ending up at the small cafe on the corner. It was warmer inside, with soft chipper Christmas music fluttering over the speakers. He ordered a danish from the girl behind the counter.

"Well, good morning," she said brightly, and laughed a little. "Again."

Harry nodded to her. She took his money and looked at him like she wanted to say something else, unrelated to the sale. He waited for an instant, wondering if she would get up the courage this time. But instead she only shook her head and smiled weakly, gesturing to a table. Harry sat at one a small distance from the counter and ran his fingers over the edge of his plate.

A few moments later, the door dinged and Draco came in. He'd pulled a blue polo on over his pajama pants and covered it with the black woolen coat. He ordered a mug of tea. Harry noticed that the girl bit her lip in silence when she gave him his drink. Draco came over and sat down at the table across from Harry, propping his feet up on an empty chair with a sigh. He tossed Harry's hat down on the table and removed his own from his head. Harry looked at the stocking cap he'd forgotten and raised his eyes to Draco's face. But Draco was looking around the otherwise empty shop.

The door tinkled again and a tall man walked in, rubbing his hands against the cold. He smiled at the girl and ordered a bagel. Harry watched him converse with her pleasantly, found himself eyeing the strong slope of his jaw, the carefree glimmer in his eyes. The man was handsome, but Harry's heart sank. Why did he feel the need to look at this man when Draco was sitting right there? He didn't really think he wanted him. Maybe he wanted to be him. Or maybe he did just want him. He felt Draco's eyes searching over his face silently. Understandingly. Sadly. Draco looked at the man for a long moment, watching him leave the shop and walk out of sight down the street. He gave a small sigh. Harry returned his gaze to his hat and prepared for what he knew to be coming.

"Is it the sex, Harry?"

Harry turned his mug between his fingers. He didn't need to look at his lover. It wasn't necessary for this. All he had to do was answer, and then he could ask a question of his own. Back and forth. A silent agreement.

"No."

Draco gave the tiniest of nods, eyes still on one of the empty chairs across the small room, and waited.

"Is it the sex, Draco?"

"No."

This time it was Harry who nodded, once. He heard a clatter at the counter, saw the girl wiping up spilled sugar and spreading cream. Draco turned his gaze to Harry's hat, taking a miniscule sip from his mug.

"Is it me, Harry?"

Harry looked at his lover sidelong for a moment. Draco brushed fingers through his sleep-tousled hair and fiddled with the material of Harry's cap. Harry took a breath and let it out slowly through his nose.

"I don't know."

Draco's fingers stilled and he glanced at Harry. The danish was already hardening, but still Harry turned his plate between his fingers, thinking of snow and cold silent rooms.

"Is it me, Draco?"

The look in Draco's eyes was appraising, but shuttered. He perused Harry's countenance as if looking for the answers there. And then his face flickered away from the slight frown it had been wearing. Something new rolled over his sharp features, as if he'd only just come to a realization. Confusion. He gazed at Harry for a moment before answering, a tiny rueful smile brushing his lips.

"No."

Harry locked eyes with Draco, still able to see the defeat in them. The confusion his lover couldn't quite make sense of. "But it's something else. Isn't it?"

Draco looked away.

"It's my turn, Harry," he chided softly.

The girl glanced over at them, a sad look on her small face, and turned back to stacking paper cups. Harry waited, feeling the plate grow cold against his fingertips. But Draco did not speak. They sat there in the shop, and the snow began falling gently outside.
...
...
...

Man. That was so hard. I kept wanting to get them back together. Oh, well. The end is unwritten, even at this stage.
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