For the Quidditch League with the genre – post war and the prompts: trap, easier, and "Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's an experience" – Victoria Holt.
For OTP boot camp with the prompt: suffocated.
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"Move in with me."
Draco is hallway to the door when he hears those four words. He freezes. After a few moments, he turns around to face his boyfriend. Charlie is sitting in his favorite armchair, lacing up his work boots.
"Come again," Draco says as if he didn't hear. But they both know that he did.
Once Charlie is done, he glances up to meet Draco's eyes. "I said, move in with me. You're already spending most of your time here, anyways. What would be the difference?"
The world stops for Draco. He had known that this moment was coming. Lately, he's spent more nights than not at Charlie's place, only to leave when Charlie heads off to work. And Draco can't deny that he enjoys waking up next to him. But moving in with Charlie is different because he can't completely hide the parts of himself that he hates, not in close quarters, not all the time.
Draco looks up at Charlie, his eyes carefully guarded. "There is just a difference," he murmurs. Before Charlie has a chance to say anything else, Draco feels the familiar tug of Apparation.
He knows it's the coward's way out, but he can't explain to Charlie why he doesn't move in.
.
Draco sits at the bar, watching Charlie as he effortlessly moves around the kitchen, cooking dinner. The tension in the air is thick, nearly suffocating. And it's been this way for going on two weeks. Because every time Charlie starts to bring up the conversation, Draco shuts down and disappears. It's easier than facing the discussion that is sure to come.
Charlie puts a plate in front of Draco and they eat in silence. Draco can feel how much Charlie wants to bring up the conversation again, and it makes his skin to crawl. But Charlie doesn't say anything until dinner is over.
"Draco," he whispers. His voice takes on a tone that Draco can't quite pin down; maybe wounded.
He shakes his head. "Don't," he commands. "Just…don't."
Draco turns to leave, as he's become accustom to, when Charlie's hand wraps around his wrist. "Talk to me," he pleads. "Please." When Draco doesn't speak, Charlie adds, "Will you at least stay?"
"My apologies," he says. And they both know that he won't stay, that he can't stay with all the tension between them.
Charlie just lets him go, a hurt expression on his face.
.
Draco turns to Apparate away, but his wand flies out of his hand before he has a chance. Draco turns around to where Charlie is standing, his eyebrows furrowed. "What the hell?" he demands.
Charlie pockets Draco wand. "I'm tired of this, Draco," he says. "We're going to talk about this. Otherwise, it's going to tear us apart."
Draco turns his head away from Charlie; anxiety setting in his bones because he's ultimately trapped in Charlie's living room, waiting for a conversation that he doesn't want to have. But he knows that there's no way out since Charlie's most likely charmed the door shut to prevent him from leaving.
"You shut down and I want to know why. What is it about moving in with me has you so terrified?"
"I'm not scared, Weasley," Draco replies.
Before he can continue, Charlie breaks in with, "Could've had me fooled," earning him a hard glare. But Draco's glares have long since stopped working on him. "Because you've been avoiding this conversation for a month now."
Draco drops his stare, but doesn't comment.
Charlie crosses the room, invading Draco's personal space. "Please explain it to me."
There's a pleading tone in his voice that Draco can't help but notice. It's enough to make Draco to look up and meet Charlie's blue eyes. "This shouldn't have gone on this long." He knows, even though the sentence can have two meanings, that Charlie will automatically understand what he's saying and what he's not.
Draco sees Charlie flinch as if he was slapped, and he sees anger flash in his boyfriend's eyes.
But, as always, Charlie never lets it get to him. "You're scared of commitment and I get that, Draco; I really do. But how is moving in any different from staying over?" When Draco doesn't answer, Charlie presses on, "There isn't a difference. And I don't see what the problem is."
"The problem is that I will never be as good as you," Draco finally explodes. "No matter how hard I try."
Silence descends between them. Charlie stares at him, understanding flooding his eyes. "You're letting your past define us, and I thought we agreed you wouldn't."
Draco goes to speak, but Charlie cuts him off. "Look, just because you move in with me doesn't mean that you have to be perfect. You're imperfect, and you make mistakes; you're only human. I just want you to try this. It may not work. We may not fit together, but if we don't, at least we tried it."
He debates it. Staying the night allows Draco to pretend that he's as good as Charlie believes he is, and moving in with him would mean that Charlie will see all the faults that he wants to hide. There are things in his past that he isn't proud of, things that Charlie doesn't know about, and he doesn't want Charlie to see him on the bad nights. Doesn't want Charlie to see him when he can't stop thinking about things that he's done.
And yet, Draco already knows that by staying the night, he's already so far invested in the relationship that he isn't sure that he could walk away. Because Charlie's been worming his way past all of his defenses in the past few months, causing Draco to care more than he should for the red head.
After a moment's thought, Draco realizes that he couldn't walk away from unconditional acceptance and unwavering love that Charlie gives.
"Alright," Draco murmurs. "We can try this."
He immediately knows it's the right answer by the way that Charlie's face breaks out into a grin.
Charlie pulls Draco towards him. "Thank you," he whispers against Draco's lips.
It may not work. It may come to blow up in their faces, but it's not going to stop them from trying.
A/n – so many thanks to Pam for beta-ing this for me. It wouldn't have been as good without her.