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“Harry.”
The voice is distant and buzzes around his head like a fly. Harry desperately tries to swat it, to return to the warm, honey-like buzz. It's difficult; he can’t seem to focus on it. He can’t seem to focus on anything, lately. Everything feels so far off, and no matter how hard he tries to swim back, the current pushes back against him harder. Maybe it’s because of the whole death tournament thing he was unwillingly entered in.
Speaking of which, why won’t anyone believe him? Who would willingly participate in a certain gruesome death? Harry would because he is starving for attention, apparently. Thanks a lot, Rita Skank, you piece of sh-
“Harry?”
The mystery voice is accompanied by a hand on his wrist. Mystery man’s watch is cold, which immediately jerks Harry out of his daydream of murdering Rita Skank in a very painful and inappropriate way, which may or may not include medieval torture methods an-
“Harry?! I’m getting worried, love.”
Harry blinks and stupidly looks up at the mystery man, who is sitting beside him yet still towers over him.
Oh.
“Cedric?” Harry mumbles.
“The one and only, mate. Did something happen? You were gone for a while. I thought you were just thinking until you started crushing the peach I so lovingly picked for you in- oh, a quite gruesome manner.”
God, he needs help.
“What? Oh, sorry. I-uh didn’t realize.” Harry mutters, slightly embarrassed. He really did want that peach.
The peach juice is pouring down Harry’s wrist, staining the parchment and dripping off the table. Madam Pince is sure to murder him now.
“ ’S okay, Harry. I’ll clean it.” Cedric flicks his wand and the sticky juice disappears. “What’s happening, love? You’ve been slipping for a long time now. Is something wrong? You can talk to me,” he says, wrapping a tan arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulling him closer on the already-tiny sofa. Harry is practically on his lap, now.
How the fuck does Cedric think this is platonic? Does he really call all his stinky 7th year friends “love” and pull them closer and kiss the top of their heads and gives like 15-second-long hugs and-
“Woah there,” Harry thinks. “He asked a question, dumbass. Time to answer now.”
“Dunno, Cedric. ‘M a bit stressed, I guess. You know, with the whole death tournament thing and the fact that it’s in two days and I’ll probably get murdered.”
Cedric hums, the vibrations travel right from his throat into Harry’s heart, then he leans down to press a soft kiss on his forehead?!
WHAT THE FUCK?! This is not helping the ‘get over Cedric Diggory’ plan he had concocted?!
“Don’t think like that, Harry. You will make it out, alright? You have a long life ahead of you, and it shouldn’t be cut short.” Cedric muses, staring out the tiny window.
“But what about you, Cedric? You’ve also got a long life ahead of you. You should take the trophy if I don’t make it out. You deserve it. But I mean, I probably don’t. I’ve had way too many near-death experiences already. My luck’s bound to run out soon. I say next year.” Harry scoffs and looks up at the older boy, whose gaze is already piercing Harry, taking him apart and putting him back together in the span of a blink. Their eyes meet in a blinding haze of green and gray, and the next thing he knows, Cedric is dipping down to press a soft kiss on his cheek.
What Harry does next is extremely stupid. Does he regret it? No, absolutely fucking not.
He instinctively turns his face so his lips knock into Cedric’s.
And oh. my. god.
It’s like the sun colliding with the moon, so bright and blinding and the burn yet so satisfying at the same time. Something clicks inside both of them and Cedric pulls away, all blushing and shy and oh-so-gorgeous. Harry blinks, feeling liberated for a second then the crippling insecurity pulls him back down, down, down and maybe it was a mistake to kiss him, because who would want to kiss Harry Potter, the liar with the ugly scars and a weird nose, who is dreadfully skinny and can’t even defend himself against his uncle’s be-
“Harry.”
Oh no.
“I can hear you overthinking. It’s okay”
Cedric brushes his rough knuckle against Harry’s cheek (“Stupid, stupid stupid!” Harry is punching himself in his head) and repeats, “It’s okay. More than okay. Great. Splendid. Really fucking awesome although I kinda wanted to initiate the first kiss but whatever. I want to kiss you again and again and again but you need to come out of your own head so you can feel it, okay, sweetheart? Come back, please.”
Harry’s still punching himself, and it hurts but Cedric’s request makes it through the muddy haze of pain and now Harry’s new mission is to climb out of his own head so he can make it back to his Cedric and get kissed over and over and over again.
So he does.
Harry pulls himself out and weakly looks up at Cedric, who is again looking back down at him with concern and relief.
And Cedric cups his jaw, bends down and captures Harry in the second and probably the best kiss of his entire life. Merlin, it’s magic. Cedric’s lips are -and always have been- dry, but never cracked. Harry now knew what flavor his chapstick was; it’s a tea of sorts. Maybe Earl Grey.
Harry pulls off for air and Cedric smiles his dazzling smile as he laughs breathlessly and dips down to press a kiss on the tip of Harry’s crooked nose. Harry unfortunately still can’t let go of the self-doubt slowly making its way through his body but he decides to push it aside and smile back, eyes glistening. Harry leans his head against Cedric’s shoulder and just lets himself feel.
Harry can at least try to enjoy it while it lasts.