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She was too old for this sort of thing. Her anxieties were too high for this sort of thing. She didn’t like half the dates she went on with men she knew. Why had she agreed to a date with a stranger? Oh, right, because she was an idiot, and she was a sucker, and because she didn’t have a backbone and because she was really, really lonely.
And, most importantly, because no one wants to go on a date with the girl who cries when she kisses them.
And that’s who she had become, like a curse, since her first love had died in the maze on that fateful night, Cho Chang had cried every time she kissed a man. It didn’t matter who it was. It didn’t matter if she was happy, or if she really liked the guy. It just didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if it was Harry Potter or Viktor Krum or that bloke she had met at the bar that sorta looked like that tall dark and handsome actor off that muggle TV show—she cried, and the kisses were wet, and things got awkward. She didn’t even know why she still tried dating. She didn’t know why she ever tried kissing. Intimacy was off the table for her.
Cedric was her first love, this was true. She knew this. But it was a young and fast love. He was there, and then he wasn’t. She mourned him, and he left a mark. She had gotten help from healers. She tried her hand at hypnotherapy. Yet still she cried. She couldn’t help but resent Cedric after all these years.
She was a lost cause.
A lost cause who had begrudgingly agreed to a blind date.
She was willing to bet money on it that the guy she was meeting up with knew about her wet, sad, pathetic, mood-killing kisses.
Everyone did.
Cho Chang, the crying kisser. How could a man ever date her if he didn’t have a tear fetish, or love sad girls, or the taste of salt in his mouth
She was much too old for blind dates , she told herself, as she sprayed perfume to her neck, and then her wrists. She pressed the date-coin to her palm, took a deep breath, and let the coin apparate her to the location she and her blind date had agreed to.
--
A shitty bar, that was known for its fish and chips—not that Draco would eat fish and chips on a date—was where he had set the apparition coin to. He chose this place because it was close to his loft and the drinks were strong. He knew the bartender, he knew the regulars, they knew him, they knew his past. It was safe and judgment-free.
He agreed to the blind date when he was drunk. That was that.
Draco didn’t really date. Not since his failed marriage. Astoria was pushed on him, and he on her. And she never would have agreed to marry him had she known that her vows meant she had to love Draco after the media turned against the Malfoy’s, arresting his father, dragging their name through the mud, humiliating them, turning the entire wizarding world against them. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting her children to bear the Malfoy name— curse . So, he let her go, without question, he let her leave, and he was not shocked to find she dropped his last name the second she could.
Draco found it funny, at one time in history it was an honor to hold the name Malfoy. Now, it was a stain on your family tree.
He didn’t blame Astoria, she was young when she agreed to marry him.
If he could bail on his family name, he would too.
But dating since wasn’t easy. It wasn’t fun.
Draco hated the questions, he hated the way women dug into his past, thinking they were being clever the way they went about it. He saw right through them, they all wanted to be reassured that he wasn’t a bad guy anymore, a death eater, a dark wizard, and while he could have answered their questions to set their minds at ease, he didn’t. He found it a game to answer each question spinning tales—scaring them away.
If they couldn’t handle his past, he didn’t see them in his future.
Draco took the booth at the back of the bar, just in case his blind date found him embarrassing to be seen with. He honestly hoped when they saw him sitting at the booth with the date-coin in his hand that they would do what so many others had done when they saw him—turn and leave. He wasn’t in the mood. He was never in the mood. He was bitter and burnt-out and pissy and irritable all the time, but mostly he was lonely, really fucking lonely, and he knew no one could fill that loneliness because no one wanted the baggage that came with Draco Malfoy.
Daddy issues.
A criminal record.
Blood on his hands.
A past stained with hatred.
And secretes, so many fucking secrets.
He felt a cool breeze sweep across the room, and a sweet scent lingered with it. He looked up to see her crossing the bar. A dark-haired beauty. Out of place. Nervous. Familiar. His blind date was Cho Chang— she cried when she kissed men —he thought, this was going to be a quick date.
He took his shot of fire whiskey and raised a hand at her, a gold coin between his fingers. She paused and looked down at the coin in her own hand, and then looked back up to him. He could have sworn he saw her shrug her shoulders a bit, as if saying ‘fuck it’ and headed his way, her head down, her lips pursed tight, her shoulders hunched. Cho Chang looked as defeated as he felt.
Maybe they had something in common.
--
Raising his hand at the back of the bar was a face she had only recently seen in the headlines. She heard he didn’t go out much anymore. She had heard his wife left him when his father was sentenced to death, and his inheritance was stripped from him and used to pay for the suffering of the families affected by the Dark Lord and the Malfoy’s. She had heard he was meaner now than in Hogwarts. A monster. A drunk. A recluse.
She glanced up for just a second as she made her way across the bar, he looked older, that was certain, but he was handsome, and she was taken aback by her ability to see him as anything other than the monster she knew him as all those years ago.
Surely her dear friend would not have arranged such a date for her with a monster. Surely, Harry saw something in Draco that he thought might be a fit for her. Surely, Harry saw something in her that was a fit for Draco, otherwise, he wouldn’t have arranged this blind date. Harry wasn’t known to be cruel, and while she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, he had set her up on a date with Draco Malfoy, and that seemed undeniably cruel.
When she reached the table Draco stood and offered to take her coat, she obliged. He stayed standing until she took the seat across from him, noticing the shots of fire whiskey that awaited her, and the shots of fire whiskey that were already gone.
Was that his plan? Get her drunk? She felt she should warn him that drinking only made her cry harder.
“Cho Chang. It’s been a long time.” Draco said, taking a seat.
“Draco. Should have known it would be an old Hogwarts mate. We all technically know the same people.”
“Are you shocked it's me? This can't be a pleasant surprise.”
“I am shocked it’s you. Confused as to why Harry thought you and I should try our hand at dating. But it makes the whole ‘blind date thing’ make more sense now.”
Draco scooted one of the shot glasses to her and proceeded to take one for himself.
He did not offer up a toast. Because what would they toast to?
“If you would have known it was me, would you have come?” Draco asked, not much emotion behind the question as if he couldn’t care either way.
“I don’t know,” Cho answered honestly. Because while she never liked the idea of being in close proximity to Draco all those years ago, and she wasn’t sure she liked it now, she was desperate for connection and willing to risk it all to find it.
Cho grew up in a home where her mother and father loved each other until their final breath. She had always wanted that kind of love since she was a little girl. She thought Cedric was it for her, and he was taken from her. And now, she was, in fact, desperate to find what she longed for in life: a husband, a best friend, someone to come home to, someone to cook for and fuss over, andsomeone to fuss over her .
She didn’t think Draco was the fussing type.
She was almost certain that role wouldn’t be filled by Draco of all people, but she took the shot of fire whiskey and decided it was worth a try.
“Why did you say yes to a blind date? You’re—” he paused, took another shot of fire whiskey, “—an attractive woman. You seem healthy. Why do you need help getting dates?”
“I don’t. I find men are easy to get,” she took another shot, “It’s the getting them to stay that I struggle with.”
Draco locked eyes with her, he didn’t think this would be a date with deep omissions, but he wasn’t sure he minded it. It had been a long time since he felt the urge to be honest with someone. It felt like a lifetime since he had a conversation with someone where he didn’t make it into a game to scare them away, to live up to his reputation.
“Is it the whole, ‘crying when you kiss thing’?” he asked, not wasting any time. If they were going to be honest, he might as well lay it all out from the start.
Cho’s lips loosened with the hint of an embarrassed smile. He watched as her long slinger fingers nervously traced the lip of the empty shot glass.
“So, you’ve heard about that, have you?”
“I think everyone has. It's public knowledge,” he said, his voice a bit lighter, the corner of his mouth a cocky grin.
“That’s brash, considering your name hasn’t left the headlines in years,” she said, her face serious, but her eyes teasing.
“Maybe this was what Harry saw that we had in common,” Draco suggested, pushing another shot towards her.
“Go on,” she said, taking the shot despite knowing she was a lightweight.
“He knew we were both broken,” he said in a low, more serious tone.
Cho was taken aback by this—this version of Draco that admitted he wasn’t perfect, this version that wasn’t mean or condescending or proud, this version that had her wondering what if , what if he had changed.
“I can’t believe you are admitting you are broken, Draco.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, you have always been so,I don’t know, confident, and I’m sorry to admit this, but you were always so mean, and, well, you are a Malfoy.”
“What does a name have to do with a person? If your name was Rose, or Lily, should I expect you to smell sweet?” he asked.
“Well, no, but—”
“But what? What does being a Malfoy have anything to do with who I am as a person? I am not my father, and he was not his father. And while I was raised to be like him, I am not him. Same last name, same bloodline, same looks even, but never was I ever like him—or at least I never wanted to be. I was the things you said I was, but not by choice. Everyone was so quick to forget that the Dark Lord ruled my home, my family. If I didn’t do as I was told I would have died. And maybe that made me a coward—to conform—but no one wants to factor in that I was a child . I was a child when my brain was washed, and the Dark Lord’s agenda was pushed on me.” His voice sounding angrier, his chest heaving, as he spoke.
“Draco, I’m so sorry,” she offered, taking his hands in hers—he was trembling.
“No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Her fingers stroked over his pale, soft hands, “I’m happy you told me all that. I think you’ve needed to say those things for a long time.”
“I have,” he admitted.
“Why me? Why now?” she asked.
He flipped her hands around in his and began to rub her delicate skin, “Because, you are the first person that has sat with me, and drank with me and talked with me. You are the first person that wasn’t finding a way to leave the whole time.”
“And how do you know I don’t want to leave now?” she asked, her cheeks growing flush.
He looked down at her hands in his.
“Because your hands are in mine with no signs of you pulling them away.”
She looked down at her hands in his.
He was right. Her hands were so very effortless in his.
She watched as his thumbs pressed into her palms, massaging her there, making her body heat all over at the simple action.
“I’m broken,” she said, nervously.
“So am I,” he reassured her.
“I don’t know how to not cry. The rumors are true,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. Maybe when I kiss you, I’ll cry too.”
“Why would you cry?” she asked.
“Because maybe after all this time I’ve finally found someone to be broken with.”
Cho felt her lips loosen; the nervous frown replaced with parted lips that longed for his.
“Are you going to kiss me then?” she asked.
Draco got up from where he sat and moved to join her on the bench seat. Their bodies both turned towards each other, their knees touching, her hands nervously fidgeting in her lap.
“I’ll only kiss you if you promise me one thing.” He said, encouraging her face to look up, to meet his gaze—he could already see the tears starting to form in her eyes.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Promise me that when I kiss you, you don’t try to hold back your tears,” Draco said, bringing a thumb to wipe away the first drop that had begun to roll down her cheek.
“Then I need you to promise me something as well.”
“Anything,” he said confidently.
“When you want to stop, you'll stop. Don’t keep kissing me out of pity.”
Draco pulled her closer, her legs wrapping around him—it was a tight fit, but they managed.
“Any man that said he kissed you out of pity is a liar and a fool.”
“Promise me, Draco.”
He slowly brought his face to hers, his nose gently touching hers, his breath on her lips, his heart racing against her chest, “I promise,” he said in a whisper and then his lips met hers.
He kissed her gently, just his lips, soft and sure on hers.
The first tear rolled down her cheek.
Then he kissed her bottom lip only.
The second tear rolled down her cheek and met his chin.
Then he encouraged her to part her lips for him—she did—the kiss grew deep, their breathing grew heavy.
The third tear rolled down to her nose, meeting his nose.
He didn’t back away, he pulled her closer, her face in his hands. His lips moved from her mouth and before she could comprehend what he was about to do he began to kiss every tear that streaked her face.
This only made her sob harder.
This monster was no monster at all.
He was gentle and kind, and he was kissing her, and she was crying, and she noticed he was crying too.
Maybe he was right, maybe they both just needed someone to be broken with.