Utterly Broken

They hadn't kissed.

They hadn't fucking kissed. 

It had been over a week since they had nearly kissed in the infirmary and they hadn't fucking kissed. It had never been like this with Cho or Ginny, never. He'd enjoyed their company immensely, and sure, of course he had thought about kissing them, but he wasn't completely desperate for them like he was with Draco.

However, it wasn't like Draco's lips were the only thing he craved, and Harry would be perfectly fine hanging around Draco, as friends, because he did simply enjoy the Slytherin's company. No matter how much of a snob he could be (And he could be a huge snob). 

He just wanted to be around Draco and make Draco feel all the things he felt. And he felt nothing but fire. Burning, feeling fire. In those moments where their lips were just so fucking close, that fire threatened to burn him up. He was desperate to press their lips together and truly burn alive.

They had been so close too, and then Draco would smile that horrible little smile and Harry would suffer a little longer. He originally thought it was because Draco was a terrible bastard who wanted him to suffer, but then he saw behind the mask. Draco was very good at covering up his feelings, too good. He shouldn't of been that good, because it was a talent only developed after years of practice. But, Harry knew him too well. 

Draco was scared.

Harry didn't know what he was scared of. Was it him? Was it moving on with whatever they felt for each other? What was it? Whatever it was, it threatened to eat Harry alive. However, he let himself suffer, he deserved it after all. He would live the rest of his life suffering if it meant spending time with Draco, he just didn't want the Slytherin to suffer too. 

So he continued as normal, as if his insides didn't burst into flames whenever he saw Draco.

The past eight days had been nothing but snippy conversations, awkward goodnights and listening to Draco play his various instruments. 

Holy shit, he did play play a lot instruments. And he was amazing at playing all of them. Harry adored the face Draco spouted when he played, it was just so peaceful and relaxed, yet wrinkled in concentration. Whenever he was playing a swooping, slightly easier part, his eyes would close delicately, long pale eyelashes beautiful. And whenever he was playing a slightly harder part, his perfect eyebrows would furrow in elegant concentration.

He could watch Draco play for hours. And he had. 

Three hours to be exact. Afterwards Draco had looked up in surprise, "You're still here?"

"I never left," Harry had replied, "You honestly didn't notice me?"

Draco had scoffed, "I don't tend to notice people when I play..."

"Not. Even. Me!?" Harry had said dramatically, reaching an offended hand to his chest.

"Especially not you, you're not noticeable at all!" Draco's pale blond hair had been slightly roughed up, and his hand had limply held his viola at his side. 

The Gryffindor had burst into laughter, "Because the Boy who Lived isn't noticeable at all!"

He was still amazed that Draco even stuck by him, after admitting to all those horrible things he had done. 

"Actually no, you're too noticeable-"

Harry had given Draco the look of told you, and Draco had scowled back at him.

"-because your hair is atrocious! Simply looking at it makes people want to hurl!"

"You really love hair don't you?" Harry had pondered sarcastically, "Have a hair fetish?"