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“Remember when you made me promise not to fall in love? I thought you incredibly arrogant; full of smirking confidence, despite being drunk enough to topple over without the bar to lean onto. I laughed it off, promised you that wasn’t likely to happen.
“Then you actually did stumble, trying to be smooth and kiss me. It was endearing and pitiful; I couldn’t possibly leave you there. If I had known what bringing you home with me would lead to, that all it would take to fall for you was one night of sleeping next to you, watching and holding you, maybe I would have called you a cab.” Even as he says it, Harry knows the truth.
“Who am I kidding, I would have done the exact same thing. I still would have made you breakfast in the morning, still wouldn’t have pushed you away when you kissed me, rumpled from sleep and hungover. You stared complaining not ten seconds later about headaches, how I didn’t have a cure in the house, how I need to be more prepared.
“As if I should have expected you to come crashing back into my life. I probably should have.” His reflexion looks as miserable as he feels. Splendid.
“I never stood a chance at keeping my promise.”
“If you ever plan on coming out of that bathroom again, Potter, I might be amenable towards a second round.” Harry sighs. He won’t tell Draco how he feels today. Another speech held for no-one but his reflection, another forced smile, pretending he doesn’t need more than their arrangement.
Better than not having Draco at all.