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"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it,” a voice said behind him, pulling him from the depressing thoughts of his mother’s passing.
Draco slowly lifted his head; his thoughts and movements sluggish from all the alcohol he imbibed already that evening. A memory filtered through to the foreground of his mind and he latched onto it long enough to reply with, “My old headmaster used to say that.”
“A fellow fighter said that to me one night after my best friend died, or I thought he died since I recently found out he's still alive after over seventy years. It's all rather confusing.” There was a slight pause as the music continued to play in the background. “Do you mind?”
Pale grey eyes finally met dark blue as Draco turned to face the other man. He felt his heart stop in his chest as he silently took in the broad man standing next to him.
After a few moments, the other man shifted on his feet, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
Draco shook his head, dislodging his thoughts. “Forgive me,” he said before gesturing to the stool next to him, “please join me.”
A bright smile lit the other man’s features. He sat down next to Draco and held out his hand. “Steve Rogers.”
Finally releasing the near death grip he’d had on his glass, Draco reached over and grasped Steve’s hand in his own.
Both men stared down at their joined hands as a shock spread from where they touched.
Not ready to let go, Draco caressed the back of Steve’s hand with his thumb. “Draco Malfoy. Thank you for earlier. My mum passed away a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been wallowing.”
“You’re allowed to grieve for your loved ones.” Steve squeezed Draco’s hand in response. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Don’t be,” Draco replied. “She’s no longer suffering, and I need to remember that on nights like this.”
“That may be, but I am sorry for your loss,” Steve said.
Before Draco could reply, Steve raised his free hand and signalled for another beer. It looked like neither had plans to leave any time soon.