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There are pools of light swirling through the blurry air, mixing in maroon and ochre and pale, ethereal blue. Strings of light are intertwining with the neverending steam that fills the room, from the hunched plant standing on a stool in the corner by the window, all the to the half-empty bottle of warm wine as dark as blood.
It is silence that plays the melodies of tonight with broken, almost ghostly whispers of a boy sitting in the bathtub. If there was any water in the tub, it would have been lukewarm and plain now but there is nothing except for a pile of clothing, a glass of wine and the dream-like state that covered the entirety of Draco's vision.
He can see the dusty light coming from his finger, pushing through the holes of the soft fabric in his hands, the flickers of candles that filled his peripheral vision, and his knees, sticking out of rips in his jeans, pale and delicate, a striking contrast to the otherwise blending picture.
He can swear there was music at some point, back when the wine was cold and the sweater still smelled like his lover and not like Draco's cologne and cheap, scented candles and even cheaper, spilt wine.
Draco sighs and pulls the sweater close to him, burying his face into the soft, white wool, longing to reach out and pull the last strands of Harry's scent from the worn fabric. The steam encloses him with a welcoming hug and the silence embraces his soul like an old friend. He closes his eyes and let the aftertaste of the wine swallow him whole, the memories of Harry's kisses still fresh on his blooming skin.
And then, cold. Biting and stubborn, attacking every inch of his naked chest, the shift of the air pulling air out of his lungs until there were warm hands on his skin and the doors were drawn shut and there was someone in the bathroom, kissing him, melting into him, smelling so familiar, so distinctly like the love of his life.
"Oh Harry," he moans into his lover's mouth, quickening the kiss, making it last and last and last, long and hard and so important that it seems like it is their last. "Oh my darling, Harry, if you only knew of my betrayals..."
Harry kisses his lips once more, gentle and soft before pulling back and sitting down on a recently summoned chair. Harry's fingers card through Draco's hair as if his golden lock were real gold, the shine in Harry's eyes reflecting only the love people see in the most precious of things.
"What's happened, Draco?", Harry asks, his voice low and husky, blending into the smoky evening that's gathered in their bathroom. The lights are lower, or at least it appears that way, the only thing that is left in the golden light, seemingly being Harry. His Harry.
"I've ruined it, Harry. It's all ruined now." Draco pulls the sweater over his face, hiding his tears but his shoulders shake in sorrow. He sniffs and rocks and when Harry whispers for him to stand up he looks at him, confused, eyes blotchy and his face wet with tears. He stands up anyway and in what feels less than a second, he is in Harry's arms, both of them comfortable cuddled in the bathtub.
Harry's fingers are intertwined with his and they are both holding the sweater as Harry lifts it up, so it's opened between their hands. The wool is in the colour of warm cream and Draco bites his lip so hard it actually hurts. Soon enough, he is breathing in Harry's scent, feeling safe if only for a moment, his face buried in his lover's neck, because he is unable to watch Harry's heart shatter.
The silence is heavy on Draco's shoulders as Harry pulls him closer into a hug and folds the sweater all on his own. Draco can feel Harry move, reach for something and then he hears a gulp and settling of a glass bottle against tiles. The is no wool against Draco's skin once Harry settles down again, but there are soft kisses trailing down his cheek and neck towards his shoulder.
Draco takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the blow, knowing full well that these tender moments might be the last seconds of his happiness with his Harry. He looks up and Harry takes the opportunity to kiss him. There is a gentle hand cupping his cheek and a hand around his waist, pulling him closer and closer and closer, as close as it gets and into Harry himself, until their souls become one and their beings become infinite.
When they finally pull back, Draco panting and Harry is grinning at him, looking at him with what can only be seen as kindness, love and pure, saturated amusement. Draco believes though, that the first two are just a reflection of candles, and his wand still being turned on, casting faint shadows to Harry's face and his eyes and his mouth, his wonderful mouth which Draco kisses quickly, just one more time.
"I must say I expected to find a body of our enemies when I entered the house," Harry tells him and pecks his nose. "The whole place reeks of cinnamon - are you awake?"
"I'm only aware of the wool and the hole and you, only you, my darling," Draco whispers and buries his face in Harry's neck once more, hugging him and not letting go for dozens and dozens of seconds until Harry tickles him and with that earned himself a petty slap. "You're a fool, Potter, if you think you can tickle me."
"You're drinking - what are you drinking?" Harry snorts and reaches for a bottle, but Draco snatches it from his hands and takes a large gulp.
"For your information, it's Château du Cèdre Cahors Malbec and it's perfectly acceptable."
"It tastes like soap, Draco," Harry laughs but takes a swig anyway and then put the bottle back on the floor, wasting some time with a snog and a half before Draco pulls back, worry climbing back into him. Snogging didn't help fix Harry's sweater - it was only a distraction so Draco would easily accept divorce.
"Harry, love.., darling, Harry, I am so sorry," Draco stutters and pecks Harry's lips quickly. "I can't explain how it happened but I didn't mean for it to happen and I know how much you love that sweater -"
"I only love it because you steal it but go on," Harry murmurs, amused as ever, tangling his fingers in Draco's locks while he talked and talked and talked.
"- and I know that it's your favourite and I tried to fix it -"
"Thank god our house isn't on fire."
"- but I didn't succeed and I firecalled Molly for help but no one answered -"
"Yeah, maybe because she's on holiday in Italy."
"- so I was just left all alone with your ruined sweater and I didn't know what to do - "
"Well, judging by the wine..."
"- I guess what I'm trying to say is...", Draco takes a deep breath and Harry's hands in his own before saying as quickly as humanly possible: "Please don't divorce me."
Harry is full on grinning at him and Draco finds that quite concerning. It gives him shivers as he does not know whether to be afraid for his marriage, his life, neither or both. "Hate to break it to you, Draco," Harry starts, dragging out every syllable, making it last, teasing. "But unless you cheat on me with Cormac, I'm not divorcing you."
And it is exactly at that moment that Draco throws himself at Harry, hugging him so tight that he can't imagine Harry can breathe and showers him in kisses and murmured "I'm sorry"'s. Harry laughs out loud and it rings and echoes through the mist of the bathroom, swirling around and coming back, bouncing up and down and all over the place.
Draco laughs as well, out of pure joy, his body unable to contain his happiness as Harry tells him to calm down, to breathe and also that he loves him.
"Of course you love me," Draco says cockily. "I'm your husband. If you didn't love me, daisies would love your body."
"It's hard to love someone who ruins your favourite sweater," Harry raises an eyebrow and in a blink of an eye Draco is hugging him again and telling him to shut up and snog him already. And that's not even a question anymore...