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On a sunny day in late September, Harry Potter coughed out a flower petal onto his hand. He had just finished his biology lab, where he conveniently got partnered with a boy with white hair, whiter skin, and grey eyes that were sincerely out of place for the brightness of the day. This wasn’t the first time Harry met Draco Malfoy; they’ve been in class together for a month and have known each other for the past seven years. They didn’t necessarily like each other very much. Well, Draco didn’t like Harry at all, and Harry had taken to hating Draco on the principle of the matter. So yes, being partnered with him was the last thing he wanted.
Uncomfortably, they got through the first part of their lab, which involved a lot of writing and planning for what bacteria they would research. Even more conveniently, the lab lasts for the rest of the class. Which means three whole months of awkward interactions and clumsily working around the other three times a week. Which is just amazing, it’s not like the class could’ve gotten any worse.
Except it did. Halfway through deciding between the door of the bathroom or the hand dryer, an itch appeared. A light touch tickled right at the base of his throat. He coughed it up, and nothing happened, the itch stayed constant. He coughed again, a little more awkwardly, and again, it persisted.
“What is it?” Draco sneered, looking up from his paper.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” Harry said. Over the next five minutes, he kept awkwardly gagging and clearing his throat when, eventually, with a bit more effort, he coughed a fit.
“Okay,” Draco said, smacking down his pencil. “We're done. I don’t know what's going on and frankly, I really don’t care.” He quickly, but surprisingly elegantly, packed up his backpack and turned to leave.
“See you later.” Harry mumbled. Draco hesitated, and then, before he could decide to turn back, he walked out. Coughing again, Harry packed up his bag until he had the urge to shove his pencil down his mouth to scratch his throat. Straight from the lungs a gag folded him in half, and he reached to cover his mouth with a hand.
All at once, the itch vanished. The cough disappeared, and sitting on his hand was a petal. It was triangular with a darker shade of pink at the base point that slowly ombre’d into a faint white. It reminded him of the cherry blossoms he saw in the spring. He was in a sterile lab, no plant in sight…what the hell was a petal doing on his hand?
It was soft and silky to the touch. He couldn’t understand how it came from him, but he knew it wasn’t possible that it came from anywhere else. Something in him told him not to destroy it, that it was connected to his very being. Something told him to put it in a jar or to frame it on his wall. To keep it safe, because he would break if it did.
He shoved it in his bag and left the room.
❀❀❀
“Hermione, I’m telling you this is the worst thing to ever happen.” Harry complained. Shoving himself through the passing period rush to catch up with the quick weaving woman.
“Harry, please. You’re being silly, it’s just Draco.” She shook her head, not even looking back at him.
“My God, please slow down. I’m trying to have a crisis.” How was she walking so fast?
“And I’m trying to get to math, so speed up or hold your crisis till 5 pm.” She took a sharp left, and he lost her to the crowd. Groaning, he turned around instead, going to find Ron, who he knew had a free period.
Solemnly, he walked towards the direction of the student lounge. He needed to figure out what to do with this petal that spawned inside of him, but he needed to get it out of the bottom of his bag and into his locker first. Usually, the weird and unknown excited him; it meant something to study, to understand, to do. It gave him a purpose for as long as it took to figure it out. He had no desired path or future. Hermione has her research planned until she dies, and Ron has Hermione to follow. But Harry was a third unknown, one he didn’t like to figure out.
This petal was different, it horrified him. He felt its presence under the books in his bag, squishing and pressing, any quick shift of his body could rip it to shreds. Why was he so careless with things that deserved attention?
As he unhooked the bulky hand-me-down lock, he eased his backpack off his shoulder and dug for gold. Pulling his treasure out, he looked this way and that, assessing the damage. It was a bit scuffed up, but it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. But where did it come from? How did it erupt from his mouth, and why did it cause such a horrible cough? It could be from his lungs, maybe he’s dying. Or the apple seed he swallowed years ago actually did grow a tree in his stomach and now its branches are sprouting flowers in his veins. Maybe he’s going to start coughing apples. That would be incredibly painful, he figured. Or maybe got poisoned. Maybe Draco’s so upset at being partnered with him that he put something in his coffee. No, he can’t be daft, there’s no poison that would make him cough—
“Potter.” A smooth voice shocked him into shoving the petal back in his bag and slamming his locker with a bang.
He realized who said it and immediately scolded himself for (1) shoving his petal back in his bag again, and (2) looking suspicious. Why was Draco seeking him out? Perhaps he’s checking to see if the poison worked.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry sighed.
“What are you hiding?” He asked with a raised brow. Harry didn’t dignify the question with an answer and started to turn back to his locker.
“I made the executive decision to study the bacteria that grow in a bathroom. That way, we can get samples from school and both of our houses. We can draft up a hypothesis and an initial report of variables during our next lab.” Draco continued very matter-of-factly. He had this elegant air to him that made Harry want to either rip his hair out or get on his knees and worship him. He’s not really sure which.
“Yeah, perfect. Great. Sounds fine.” His rushed and jumbled reply only added more to their paradoxical partnership.
“Right. So our timeline is three months. We can take samples at the school a week from today and I’m thinking—” He quickly ran along the process, which Harry could literally care less about, school was hardly his strong suit. His mind traveled back to the petal. Hermione would probably have more answers, and…wait. Did he just say bathroom at Harry’s house?
“Hold on. No, we’re not sampling the bathroom at my house.”
“Why not?” Draco asked. Instead of looking innocently curious, he had almost a bit of mischief behind his furrowed brows.
“I don’t want you at my house.” Harry insisted. There’s no way Mr. Oxford Shoes is setting foot into his shabby apartment.
“Well, that’s too bad. We need three samples.” Malfoy insisted back. His grey eyes glittered in a storm.
“Well, that’s too bad.” Harry mocked back, “We can find a restaurant or a mall to go to. Or wait, don’t you have five different houses? Pick one of those.” There was a flash of anger behind his eyes, but he walled it up with calm before it could be noticeable.
“Fine, we can discuss this further on Friday.” He knew Malfoy was going to win. Using his stormy eyes, sharp nose, and perfect fucking skin to sway Harry. He hated him.
❀❀❀
“Harry, I’m really not sure what it could be. You're not making any sense.” Hermione held the petal in her hands, flipping it this way and that.
“Yeah, man. You’re telling us you coughed, and this petal just fell out of your mouth.” Ron added in with a raised brow.
“More like threw it up, but yeah, pretty much.” Harry shrugged. He was sitting on the floor in front of Hermione and Ron on the couch, and to his back was a fireplace that was slowly scalding his skin. Hermione’s apartment was quaint, and the only option to hang around since Ron had his entire family and Harry’s cramped studio was not enough for more than him. He had just given them the petal and explained the whole situation. Their reactions would’ve made him feel like he was hallucinating if there wasn’t physical proof sitting in their laps right now.
“This is the only time it’s happened?” Hermione was now looking at it under a magnifying glass she pulled from God knows where.
“Uh, no.” Harry said uncomfortably. “That was the first. It happened again after I tried to get you to listen in the hallway.”
“Where is that petal?”
“Somewhere in my bag.”
“Harry!” She stood up and smacked the back of his head as she got his backpack. “This is something coming out of you and we have no idea what it could be. You have to be more careful!”
She took out the second petal and began comparing them against each other. The second cough felt like the first. Harsh and grating up his throat and into his hand. He still has no idea what caused it and, truthfully, has bigger priorities. He still has to figure out how to get Malfoy to not make a fool of him when they take samples at his house. He could convince himself a million times over that he didn’t care what Draco thought of him, but then he’d be lying to himself a million times, and that did no good for anyone.
He figured it was jealousy, deep and cutting. Wrapping its gnarled hands around his heart and squeezing every time he heard those distinct footsteps or saw those eyes the color of rain clouds. If he listened closely enough, he might be wrong, but he couldn’t. On the principle of the matter. Harry met Draco seven years ago when they had their first English class together. They’ve pretty much been orbiting each other every year after that, always having a class or an after-school activity together. Throughout everything, Malfoy has been there. He won’t go away, won’t disappear. It pisses Harry off that Draco hates him, he doesn’t understand it. Harry’s never done anything to him, if anything, they could’ve been friends. But no, that's foolish thinking.
“Harry?” Ron asked, the look on his face giving away that he zoned out for longer than acceptable. “Hermione was just asking if you’ve noticed a pattern.”
“Oh, no,” Yes. “I haven’t noticed anything.” Yes, he has. The cough only showed up after being around Draco, but two times is hardly enough evidence of a pattern. Merely a coincidence. He should probably look deeper into petal-coughing poisons.
“Well. I’ll do some research when I find time. In the meantime, tell me if you cough again and please, please, keep the petals safe.”
❀❀❀
Draco did win.
So here they were. At Draco’s house, in his bathroom, bent over the pristinely clean toilet bowl. He’s not sure why they’re swabbing it to begin with, they won’t find bacteria here.
The bathroom at school was disgusting, so he’s confident about that petri dish. It’s been a month since they started, two weeks to prep the lab report with hypotheses and variables, and two weeks to sample and culture the first dish. It took much more planning than Harry had expected. They had to swab the toilet on three separate days to get the results they needed. A whole month with Malfoy.
A jar full of petals from every time they’ve seen each other and nothing from Hermione except promises that she’s looking. His throat is ragged and it hurts to breathe when he exerts himself. No apples yet, but each petal that comes out feels like more of a curse than the last. He’s put together what he thinks could be six full flowers from the petals he spat from his mouth, they were distastefully beautiful. It made Harry deeply upset.
“We know why we failed last time so be sure not to make the same mistakes.” Draco muttered, hand hovering just outside the toilet bowl. Harry’s already made fun of this picture before during their first time swabbing. Which elicited an interesting reaction from Malfoy, in which he gazed sharply at Harry with his grey eyes and said something about how Harry “didn’t know anything about him.” He coughed up three petals that night.
“Aye aye.”
They began the process, and Harry still couldn’t understand how he was sitting in Draco’s bathroom.
“Your house is nice. Which one is it? Summer, winter, or spring?”
“Do your job.”
“I just want to know which one I have the honor of visiting. Is this the guest house? Is that why I’m here?”
“Shut up and do your job.” Draco sounded annoyed. Good.
“How much grander is the one you really live in?” Harry loved pushing him. He was always so fun when he was upset. His sharp glare and the way anger laxed his normally elegant speech were everything.
“Potter.” He spat. Finally. “The fuck do you want from me?”
“Nothing, just asking.”
Draco scoffed and looked up from where he was bent over, anger flashing in his eyes, directly face to face with Harry, who had been holding an extra swab right next to him. He paused for a moment, something else he couldn’t place flushing away the anger. Brown eyes against grey, Harry was close enough to smell the mint on his breath. Neither of them moved, stuck in a moment away from space and time. One shift and they would—
What is happening?
“Do. Your job.” He finally broke away, snatched the swab from Harry’s hand, and bent back over the bathroom floor.
It took a couple of minutes for Harry to gather his thoughts about what just happened, and by the end, he knew he needed to get out of here.
Was Draco feeling this panic too?
They finished up in record time, and without any pleasantries, Harry left. He practically ran home and immediately went to his own bathroom. It was too hot, too stuffy. The world was spinning and his chest was aching. He could feel something wrapping around his lungs, squeezing and squeezing. It had arms reaching to grasp something, clawing its way up his throat. He coughed and gagged and sputtered and after eternity, an entire flower lay in the sink basin.
❀❀❀
Harry was progressively getting worse. The ache in his lungs turned into sharp pains when he breathed. He felt the vines of the flowers wrapping and branching in his veins, stabbing different parts of his ribs. He tried not to dive into what happened with Draco on the principle that he didn’t want to cough up any more flowers. It wasn’t successful either way. He coughed when he didn’t think about it and he coughed when he did.
If he was being honest, there was a reason he never hated Draco, and he should probably allot some time to put words to feelings. Maybe it would solve the agony within his body. If he had to pinpoint the moment he realized he didn’t hate Draco for any reason other than reciprocating the feeling, it would be a year after they met.
They had been on the same team for the first time during a soccer scrimmage. Initially, Harry had been deeply upset about having a teammate who hated him, but once they stepped on the grass, something shifted in their dynamic. It’s like nothing before had mattered; the rivalry between them was nonexistent. They memorized the other and created a new way to play soccer that only the two of them knew. A shared secret, an agreement not to care about the outside world.
Draco had been beautiful in the way he’d played, his skill unmatched, a master at one more thing. The way his muscles shifted as he ran and kicked, and his blond hair slowly grewdarker with sweat. Later in the changing rooms, Harry had an epiphany, but he never revisited it.
What was he supposed to do now? This knowledge of fake hatred only killed him more. He could never love Draco, it would only end in despair and heartbreak. But despite it, he did. The line between hate and love is one he’s constantly toeing, he thought. Harry knew he hated Draco to cover up the hurt that would come from acknowledging he has loved him for over the past five years.
The hurt burrowed in his bones. Extending the vines reaching for his heart, blossoming more flowers, he would eventually cough up eventually. He could’ve guessed love would be his demise, he just thought it would feel less like hell.
❀❀❀
“Hanahaki?”
“It’s the closest thing I could find to what you're experiencing.”
Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all sitting similarly to how they were the first time he told them about the first petal. Harry had been so freaked out about the multiple full-fledged flowers in his sink and Malfoy that he called Hermione, begging for an explanation to his dilemma.
“It’s a disease, or more like a curse, actually.” Hermione winced.
“And that’s what’s causing the flowers?”
“Essentially yes. It’s a blossom plant that takes root in your lungs and travels its vines around your body until it reaches your heart.”
“What caused it? Who cursed me?” Harry couldn’t believe it.
“Well, um.” Hermione looked increasingly uncomfortable. Ron took her hand and looked Harry directly in the eye.
“Harry, mate. I’m gonna ask you a weird question, but all you gotta do is answer honestly, yeah?” Something weird was going on, but he couldn’t place what, so he nodded.
“Are you in love with someone who doesn’t love you back?” The question was so abrupt, he couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed so hard his chest sputtered. He noticed the way Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, the way Ron rubbed his thumb over Hermione’s knuckles. Their love made him sick. He continued to laugh at the irony. He laughed and laughed until he gagged up a flower and stopped in shock.
Normally, it would’ve been just another day, but the grating pain in his chest stayed. He slowly glanced up at Hermione and Ron’s horrified faces.
Blood. There was blood dripping from the flower. Smothering it really, the white was almost completely swept away by dark crimson.
“I might be. Why?” Harry croaked. God, his throat was ragged.
“Your unrequited love is killing you.” Hermione spoke gently. “This curse is cast when someone loves another so much that it literally kills them.”
“Is there any way you can tell them? Maybe they’ll like you back, shoot your shot mate.” Ron added in, more cheerful for the occasion.
Harry could never, he could barely admit it to himself. It was always going to be this way, wasn’t it? That his forbidden love was the greatest disease of all. He knew from a young age that he tainted everything he loved. He could’ve figured that Draco Malfoy would’ve ended up cursing him in the end. Draco was killing him. And Harry would let him.
“I think,” Harry muttered defeatedly. “I’m going to die.”
❀❀❀
When Harry Potter was 13, he realized he was gay. Draco Malfoy had been an unfortunate gay awakening, so he covered it up and went about his life.
When Harry Potter was 15, he had his first relationship. Luna Lovegood was not who he would’ve wanted, but he soon fell infatuated with her. Her dark grey eyes and pale blonde hair were everything to Harry. They clicked well, until they didn’t. They fell apart quickly in a rush of anger and misunderstanding. It wasn’t pretty in the least. Harry left scratches when he was dragged away from the love he had given. This was the first time he suspected he was unfit for love.
When Harry Potter was 16, he had his second relationship. Dean Thomas was different, he was a puzzle piece that fit perfectly against Harry. Dark brown eyes and unruly black hair, he was everything Draco and Luna weren’t. Until Harry cut him with his jagged edges, they fell apart yet again in a rush of anger and misunderstanding. Harry yet again left scratches where he had once left kisses. Two times was just a coincidence.
The last time Harry Potter ever tried his hand at love was the summer before he turned 17. He fell the hardest he had since the soccer locker room where he met stormy grey eyes for the first time. After an intense summer love, Harry fucked it up yet again and left scrapes and bruises pleading for them to stay. When they left anyway, Harry swore against love, resigning himself to forever forget about the concept or face being in love with someone he couldn’t have.
He chose the former, not knowing the agony of solitude would catch up to kill him.
❀❀❀
“Your house is quaint.” Draco commented, softly gazing at the sofa in the living room and the photos that hung above it.
“Don’t lie.” Harry scoffed.
“You think so little of me.” Harry glanced up at him. He had an unguarded look in his eyes, almost sadness, but closer to unmalicious jealousy. It made his eyes a beautiful color, softening the rest of his naturally sharp features. Harry felt a prick in his ribs.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Harry asked, quickly turning away.
“Water, please.”
He left to go get a glass, collect his thoughts, and cough up a few petals. He came back to Draco, standing in front of the fireplace, holding a frame of his parents. The glow of the fire made him angelic. It was not easy seeing him in his house, interacting with things so close to Harry and so far away from what he normally associated with Draco.
“Those are my parents, they died when I was young.”
“Mm, they look very kind.” Draco said, again voice tainted with soft jealousy.
“I’ve heard they were.” Draco looked up from the photo and took the glass Harry offered him.
“What happened?” Unbridled curiosity dripped from his mouth.
“Car accident. I grew up with my aunt and uncle, though they were horrible.” Draco hid a small smile behind his sip of water.
“When did you leave?”
“Why do you care?” Harry snapped, immediately regretting the words. Draco’s demeanor changed instantly, from comfortable to hurt to indifference in less than a second. Everything Harry touched tainted.
“One day, you’ll realize I’m not as malicious as you may think.” Draco spat. The anger in his voice did not match the thing he said at all.
“The bathroom is down this way. The quicker we do it, the quicker you can leave.”
He led them down the hall and into the bathroom. Quickly getting set up and started.
“I left two years ago.” Harry spoke into the silence halfway through. “I lived with Ron and his family until I could get my own place.” Draco paused for a moment but got back to work quickly.
“I want to leave.” Draco muttered softly.
“We’re almost done.” Harry scoffed, hurt by the indifference after a moment of vulnerable truth.
“No. My family, I want to leave.” Draco said even quieter than before.
This was precious. Whatever Draco was offering, Harry couldn’t fuck this up. A dark twisted part of him wanted to comfort Draco, to get what little affection he could before the vines reached his heart. He knew it would only make it worse.
“They’re horrible, as you said. I hate everything about them, and they hate me.” Draco shifted slightly. “Everything they do is horrible, it’s— it feels suffocating.” He looked up at that. Yet again, time froze. Grey on brown eyes, minty breath mixing and swirling in the air.
“You can leave. Someone will care for you when you’re gone.” Harry whispered, careful not to break the magic of the moment.
Draco sighed and it sent a shiver up Harry’s spine. One shift. Tension pulled the air between, begging someone to tip.
“Who?” Draco asked.
Me, Harry thought. But instead of saying it, a prick stabbed right in his chest and he backed away so quickly. Coughing and retching. It was too hot, Draco was too close, he needed air. He got up and ran from the bathroom to his room. He gagged and retched and reached down in his lungs and begged it to just stop. A flurry of petals and leaves and flowers exploded from his mouth in an eternal minute of pure agony.
They were all around him. Covering the floor, the bed. Blood speckled in every corner and every petal. What a pain this will be to clean up.
“Potter?” Draco knocked. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Give me a minute.” He grabbed a shirt and wiped the evidence from his face. Making sure he looked presentable, he stepped out into the hallway.
“That cough is getting worse, isn’t it?” Draco asked, again too close in the small hallway.
“It’s fine.” Harry shrugged. It’s killing me. You’re killing me.
“It started the first time we met for this project.” Draco stated. It wasn’t a question so Harry didn’t answer. “For two months it's been going. Have you gotten it checked out?”
The pain before was nothing compared to the despair Harry felt at having Draco care about him. Why twist the knife?
“I said I’m fine.”
Draco touched his shoulder gently. Harry shot his gaze up and again got caught in the endless wind of Draco Malfoy's stormy eyes.
“Please stop.” Harry whispered. “It’ll only make it harder for the both of us.”
Draco relented and they both went back to finish taking samples. The day dragged on and after Draco left, Harry was forced to face his impending doom.
❀❀❀
Harry couldn’t do it.
He’d been in and out of fits of coughing, in and out of bed rest, and in and out of deciding whether to save himself or not. He told himself he cared enough about Draco to protect him from his hands. But this pain is too much to bear. Death is knocking at his door, squeezing the air from his lungs and he just doesn’t want to die.
But he can’t tell Draco, that would go against everything he stood for. He’s in quite the predicament and every time he thinks about it, he coughs more blood and petals.
Today is a particularly terrible day. Draco had texted him for the first time with some remedy for a cough that he said “works quite well,” and then didn’t elaborate further. They’ve been working on this project for just over two months. Every other day, he’s faced with Draco Malfoy and his stormy eyes, flawless skin, and abrupt closeness that makes time stop but not for long enough. Each day they’re around each other, Harry longs for more.
He longs to get lost in grey eyes, he longs to feel across beautiful pale skin, he longs for long slender hands to hold. He longs for comfort, security, and affection. He longs to not destroy everything he touches. He longs for a relationship. He longs for a life he never got to live. He longs for love. He longs to not be on the verge of death every time he thinks about it. He longs so hard it’s literally killing him.
What a sick curse love can be.
His phone buzzes on his bedside, and he reaches over achingly to grab it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Harry. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, you know.” Hermione, of course. “A bit like I'm dying.” He coughs a little to emphasize his point.
“Sorry. Not the best question, I guess.” He can hear her wince over the phone. “Anyways, I was calling to say I was doing a bit more research on your disease, and it says that there are ways to get rid of it.”
“But…?”
“You can try to fall out of love or fall for someone else. Or you can get whoever it is you’re in love with to reciprocate.”
Good heavens. Harry feels a silent tear run down his face.
“Hermione,” He sighs, and with it comes all his hardships, all his yearning, everything he’s ever felt ever. What a life he was living. “Hermione, I can't tell them.”
“Well, why not? This is not the time to be stubborn, your life is literally on the line.”
“It’s Draco.”
“What?”
“Draco. He’s who I’m in love with.”
There was a long bout of heavy silence which pretty much summed up his whole dilemma.
“I see.” She mutters so silently he could’ve missed it. “Can you try and fall out of love?”
Harry laughed at that.
“Absolutely not. ‘Mione, I’ve been in love with him for as long as I can remember. It’s all-consuming, it’s everywhere. I can feel it in my bones, I can feel it in the petals I cough up. It’s killing me, but I can’t hurt him by telling him.”
“What do you mean you can’t hurt him?”
He sighs again. This time it comes with years of old hurt, of scratches left in people he’s loved, of everything colored with anger and pain.
“Everything I love gets hurt. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has made the other person worse off. I’ve tainted every person ever, my love has thorns just like the vines in my body.” He feels the telltale tickle in his throat, and somehow he knows this might be it.
“Harry, that is not true at all. You make everything all the better. I mean, come on, think of me and Ron. Every relationship you had was a mixture of hurt because the other person pushed that. I know I shouldn’t be scolding you now, but honestly. You have horrible taste in people.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know that Draco will be any different, but I do know he has a right to know that you love him. You are the sun Harry, you have to let yourself shine.”
Suddenly, it clicks. He’s not sure what exactly, maybe the fact that he has finally noticed the small acts of kindness from Draco he brushed aside, or the fact that he never saw those from anyone else. Maybe it was Hermione's pep talk, or the fact that hurt goes both ways and he was worse off as well.
“I have to call you back.” He says abruptly.
“Good luck!” She laughs.
He needed to get up. He needed to go. He needed to scream and yell and jump and shout from the top of the hills. But he needed to tell Draco most of all.
He struggled to push himself to his feet. Each step he took was a conscious action, he could feel like vines traveling to his heart. He didn’t have much time. He threw a hoodie on and slipped his feet into shoes. He grabbed his keys and—
Fuck.
It’s too late, he’s reached the end of the rope. On his knees, he gagged and coughed. Nothing was okay, nothing would ever be okay again. All he wanted was to live life, go to college, get a job. All he wanted was to share all the love he had to give. It ached and it burned. His heart was seizing.
All he wanted was Draco.
He snatched his phone and dialed a number.
“Hello?” A deep husky voice picked up.
“Draco,” he gasped. “Draco, please.”
❀
“POTTER. POTTER, PLEASE. Please wake up, come on. HARRY”
Harry blinked slowly awake and oh. He was here. Dark eyes, pale skin, paler hair.
“You’re here.”
“You’re awake.” Draco sighed. Harry was slowly coming back to it, to his surroundings. He was covered in petals and leaves. Pink, white, green, and red. Lots and lots of red. Crimson blood caressed every part of his living room. He looked up and felt Draco’s hands on his shoulders, a grounding weight that felt like a cure.
Then the pain seeped in. Thorns carving into his heart, sharp with every breath he took. He didn’t have much time.
“Draco.”
“No stop, conserve your breath.” Draco spoke. “I’m taking you to a doctor.”
Harry now saw that he was quite disheveled. He was wearing a hoodie and sweats, his hair a wreck, and slippers on his feet.
“Did you run here?” Harry laughed.
“You kind of died over the phone, dipshit.”
“But you came.” Harry whispered. Something was shifting. Maybe it already has, maybe it was years in making, maybe it was the puzzle piece finally aligning.
“Of course I did, you called.” Draco shifted his hands, hovering just above Harry’s cheek.
Time stops. Grey eyes on brown, pale skin against dark. Covered in petals that came from his chest. Harry leaned into his hand, and everything happened in slow motion. Draco was warm, his skin untouched by work. Time stops, but Harry can’t have it stop right now, he needs it to move.
“Draco please. What are you doing to me?” Draco moved his other hand up to Harry’s face.
“I don’t know. Tell me how I can fix it.” He spoke, pain dripped from his words.
“Hanahaki. It’s a disease caused by someone who’s in love with someone who doesn’t love them back. Unrequited love. It kills you.” Harry says. He coughs and more petals come out of his mouth, he feels the squeeze, around his lungs and his heart.
Draco peers at him through his eyelashes. Hands gripping his face, tilting it up. Something unknown is hidden behind his eyes.
“This unrequited love…” Draco whispered. The air between them was fragile, easily cut by one movement.
“It’s you. Draco I lo—“
Time stops, this time for just long enough. Warmth spread all over him. He felt an itch, but no. This one was a desire. Draco was kissing him. His soft lips were on his, and he was kissing him back. Vines were slowly unraveling, retracting their thorns, retreating from wherever they came from. Draco was kissing him.
They broke off to breathe for a moment. Draco lay his forehead against Harry’s.
“Your love was never unrequited.” Draco spoke softly through a smile. “You just thought so low of me.”
“I hated you because you hated me!” Harry laughed.
“I’m quite shit at expressing my feelings.” Draco shrugged.
“Yeah, me too, apparently.” Harry agreed, looking around at the mess he’s going to have to clean up.
“For the record,” Harry leaned in close. “I don’t hate you. I never did.”
He kisses him once again.
“I did for a little bit.” Draco said slyly.
“You little shit.”
“I don’t anymore. I actually love you quite a lot. It makes me go insane.”
Harry slammed him into the floor they were both sitting on. Kissing and biting, every push met with a pull. This is where he was meant to be, in Draco’s arms, devouring every sound out of his mouth.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Draco pulled away, grunting. “Your face is bloody, and you have flowers in your hair.”
“Wait.” Harry trapped his arm, pulling him down. “You’re in my heart, but be in my eyes too.”
Draco eyes him suspiciously, clearly not understanding.
“You need to leave. Come here. I can love you back, and I can’t guarantee it’ll be pretty but I want you here. I need you here. You don’t have to stay, but use me, here, as a bouncing board. Leave Draco, you have me to hold you up.” He stared at Draco, eyes burning with love. Heart squeezing in ways that don’t hurt. “Be in my heart, Draco. Be in my eyes.”
He worried his lip. Caught between a tug-of-war of everything keeping him at Malfoy Manor versus Harry’s humble abode. He ranges through emotions, he was all over the place. He smiled finally, gazing into Harry’s eyes with everything but hate. How far they’ve come.
“Okay Potter.” Harry raised a brow, and Draco laughed softly. Quickly devoured by Harry’s mouth, drinking in the joy he so rarely got.
“I love you. Malfoy.” What an insane life he’s lived. Flowers in his chest evaporated; he could finally breathe once more. Every in filled with mint and every out into another’s mouth.
“I love you too, Harry.”