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Draco spent most of his days numb.
He'd pressed down and blocked out so many emotions, so much sorrow and grief, fear and shame, anguish and anger, and every other emotion that wasn't befitting of an heir of the Noble House of Malfoy. The mantle rested heavier on his shoulders than ever, all hopes for their future sat squarely upon his head.
Be the dutiful heir, marry a pureblood woman and have a child, go into a career in politics, prize secrets from people, extort them; the list went on and on. And if Draco allowed himself to think about it, if he allowed himself the luxury of his conscience or his desires coming to the forefront of his mind, he'd never be able to do it. He hadn't even really begun, he couldn't fail.
So he spent most of his time numb.
But there was something that made it impossible to stay that way, impossible to wear the mask he'd been groomed for. Or rather, someone.
And that someone was currently standing in the entryway to the ballroom where the ministry gala was being held. His hair wild and untamed as ever, muggle suit instead of robes, tattoos peaking out from under his collar and along his wrists.
Draco had traced every single one of those tattoos with his fingers and with his mouth. He'd basked in the light of the other man's presence and he'd let himself feel. Every last bit of joy, and anger, and sadness, and ecstasy. Draco felt every molecule of his being come alive when he was with Harry.
It was dangerous.
He'd turned to talk to Boris Welsh about 'improvements' to the Gringott's system but he felt it, the moment that Harry's eyes found him across the room. Electricity raced up and down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Still, he didn't allow himself to turn around, didn't allow himself to acknowledge the other man.
He couldn't. He had a job to do, a role he'd been assigned; he couldn't afford to let himself be distracted.
The sensation of being watched didn't go away. All through the evening, Draco could feel his gaze boring into him, boring through the mask, through the numb indifference. Seeing him.
When he made his excuses and headed down the hall toward the restroom, he knew that Harry wouldn't be far behind. He didn't even make it to the restroom, Harry's hand clasped his waist and he steered him into an empty meeting room a few doors away.
Before he could manage any words, Harry had pressed him back against the wall, kissing him soundly.
Draco's body surged against his, gasping as his body came back to life. Everything was prickling with pins and needles the way an appendage does when it's been kept in an unnatural position too long and it's fallen asleep. It ached, his whole body shuddering, tears stinging his eyes as he fought for some semblance of control over his emotions.
"Hi," Harry murmured against his lips, hands stroking over his face, his neck, his arms, his sides; touching him gently, reverently, like he was something worthy of tenderness. "Hi," he whispered again.
Draco's eyes filled with tears, everything blurry and bright around the edges as his fingers clung to Harry's suit.
"I see you," Harry said, nudging his nose against Draco's cheek, "you're good," he breathed.
"Don't," he managed, voice constricting around that word.
Harry hummed and wrapped a hand around the back of Draco's neck as he rested their foreheads together.
"I can't do this," Draco whimpered, voice too pinched to get the words out in a voice that sounded even remotely like his own. "I can't feel all of these feelings when everyone on the other side of the door can only see the face I've painted the appropriate emotions onto. I can't-"
"Hey," Harry said, hands stroking, calming, gentling him. "Hey," he repeated. "You don't have to do any of that."
"Of course I do!" he hissed. "I have to restore the family name, what will happen to my children otherwise? I have to be the person my parents raised me to be. I have-"
"Run away with me," Harry said, voice warm, and reassuring, and inviting. "Let's just leave this place. Let's go away from home and all of the expectations, and just see who we can become. See who we were made to be, instead of what we've been fashioned and molded into."
"We can't," Draco whispered.
"Why?"
He shook his head, "Where would we go? Where would we sleep? What will we eat? What will we do for a living?"
"I don't know," Harry replied. "I don't honestly care. I've got a vault full of more gold than I can spend in a lifetime and I just want to see you."
"You're seeing me right now," he grumbled.
Harry shook his head, "I want to see you in the light. I want to see you freed from the shackles this society and your family have put you in. I want to see all of the bits that you hide because you don't think they're lovable."
He clenched his fists in Harry's lapels and closed his eyes, "What if you don't like what you see?"
"I like you," Harry said. "The more of you that you show me, the more certain I am that you are it for me. I want all of you, Draco," he said firmly. "You aren't too much for me."
"Are you certain?" he asked, searching those green eyes as vibrant and deep as any forest.
Harry nodded, "I've never been more sure of anything." He took a breath, "run away with me?"
"Yes," he whispered, daring to allow himself to imagine being free, being fully and totally present to himself and the world around him.
"Yeah?" Harry asked, entire body lighting up with a contagious joy that Draco felt in the tips of his own fingers and the roots of his hair.
He nodded, leaning in and kissing Harry once more, "Yes."
"Right now?"
He laughed, heart beating wildly but shoulders feeling lighter than they had in years. "If you want."
"I want," Harry replied, grabbing him tighter around the waist before apparating them out past the wards and into their new life.