Chapter Text
Harry never liked summer, before. Before the war, and before Hogwarts and before he realised he was different. He always felt restless and undone by the heat, too hot to do anything, too hot to do nothing.
But Draco tips his head to the sun, nose long and straight in his royal face and Harry feels like the purpose of endless summers was for him to be here, dry-mouthed, helpless to do anything but drinking the sight of him. He approaches combustion, his heart beating in tight pulses, thrumming in his whole body as the sun singes his skin and exposes his nerve endings to the heat, to the idle finger Draco caresses on his forearm, attention-seeking.
Harry feels himself sink into it and is unable to do anything but gasp for air.
Draco leans over him, the reprieve from the sun like a balm to Harry’s uncontrollable descent to madness. It doesn’t last long. Draco looks at him and Harry feels himself burn hotter, Draco so very close to him but desperately unreachable.
On his nose, summer has drawn constellations. Harry wants to reach and touch the dark stars, one by one, with the tip of a finger.
“Hot?” Draco asks.
And Harry wants to kiss him, here, where the sky flames red and blue.