(Drarry) Faking My Own Death

"Oh, it's like I'm looking down from the ceiling above
Never in the moment, never giving enough
Let's go out and shout the words we never said
I got my mistakes on loop inside my head"

Well, shit. It happened again. It would be a lie to say Draco hadn't hoped it would. He had actually fantasised about it, numerous times. Still, he didn't think that in the real world, Harry would want to sleep with Draco again. Best case scenario would be a quickie where Harry would ignore Draco altogether, just to get his kicks. But nope, this had succeeded any expectations Draco could have had. He felt like he gained a new confidence, like his worth on this planet had been reasserted by Harry's touch.

At the same time Draco now had new problems.

Firstly, he ran the risk of spiralling out of control, falling too hard, caring too deeply, when he didn't know what this had meant to Harry.

Secondly, it wasn't likely Harry would want to talk about this again, so he couldn't ask for further clarifications on what it had all meant. With his mind jumping to fluffy and honestly childish conclusions, Draco had to harshly remind himself of the likeliest outcome: Harry didn't have any feelings for him other than hate and hooking up was an exception to that fact.

Thirdly, from this point onward, Draco would have to ignore what happened and pretend like he hadn't seen Harry naked again. Like he hadn't kissed him again. Like he hadn't sucked Potter's dick. Damnit. Draco would have to face Harry's friends and act normal, all the while feeling like he belonged back in Harry's arms.

It was unfair to feel like you're on top of the world only for it to be followed by feeling like a burning pile of shit. Most of it was self-inflicted, too. Draco was currently tossing and turning in his bed, barely an hour having passed since he got back upstairs.

All of his thoughts were pure speculation and torture, since he tried to get a head start on the heartbreak he would face in the morning. Of course, he couldn't predict exactly how Harry would act in the morning, but Draco wasn't an idiot, and he could fill in the blanks. He didn't need Harry to spell it out that this second-time thing would be no more than a one-time thing.

But. Why. Would. It. Feel. So. Good. Why would it feel so real, so liberating? He didn't feel any hesitation come off of Harry, he didn't feel any conflict or secret self-hatred, he only witnessed Harry choosing what he wanted in that moment. They had been smiling, laughing, having fun. His heart had beat so loudly that it seemed like Draco had just finished running a marathon, but in reality Draco had been standing still, head reeling from Harry's hot body pressed against his own.

Back at Hogwarts, it would have been easier to hide such feelings. Draco would be able to get lost in a sea of people, and his glances from afar wouldn't have stood out to anyone. His nervous, awkward shuffling around wouldn't have bothered anyone. Here in the cottage, there was little he could do to avoid looking suspicious whenever he was around Harry.

Whenever he saw Harry, Draco's head started spinning, thinking back of their stolen moment in the dark. He wanted nothing else but to drag Harry back to the laundry room and do it all over again. To run his fingers across Harry's chest, to feel Harry touch him, to hear Harry moan and cuss over how good it felt.

And whenever Draco started thinking that, he reminded himself he was in company of other people. His thoughts may be hidden, but if he went on thinking long enough, his feelings would become rather crudely visible.

At the same time, it wouldn't go unnoticed if Draco stayed in his room all day, when he had been fine with being downstairs before. Somebody would definitely come check out if something was wrong, which wouldn't help. Draco was good at lying to people's faces, but he didn't want to anymore. He wanted to avoid those types of questions altogether, so he wouldn't have to lie.