This was thrown together for my best friend a couple of months back. Hope you enjoy.
Harry and Draco aren't mine. They belong to JK Rowling :)
Let It Pour Out
He lay, palms facing the ceiling and eyes wide open. He'd have liked to say he was thinking but his mind was blank. A completely white room that didn't appear to have any corners, the walls blending eerily into nothing.
Thoughts came and went, dirty smudges on the pristine walls. He supposed he should have felt sad - it was, after all, his Dad's birthday and it had been 5 years or so since he'd handed him a birthday card or cut him a piece of cake. It was more of a choking loneliness he felt one that bound his throat and twisted his guts. He wanted to cry, honest he did. But the mere thought of crying over somebody that had once been, so long ago, was quite incomprehensible to him. It sounded cold and heartless but the tears he shed when his Dad left were enough to last a lifetime of birthday's and anniversaries. It made him sad, which was such a small word to describe something so horrific, but life carried on for him and that was that.
Harry saw it a different way. He believed crying let everything out - bottling it all up was bound to make someone's mind crack and he'd much rather have puffy eyes and red skin than a broken mind.
When Harry met Draco, he was just getting over the death of his cherished father. He asked unanswerable questions about why life was so unfair but Harry just pursed his lips and shook his head. He didn't know why something so horrific could happen to someone who was, in God's grand scheme of things, significantly insignificant. He asked why good-willed innocent people died when terrible people were still alive and kicking, devising terrible new plans and moving onto greater things. He also explained to Draco that God, whoever and whatever he was, gave the hardest trials to the people who were strong enough to soldier on with the weight still pressing heavily on their shoulders. It was those people, Harry also explained, who came out an inevitable winner.
Every anniversary or birthday Harry thought it his duty to tell Draco how strong willed he was.
He lay on the bed and pressed his palm to Draco's, their fingertips meeting but not entwined.
"You just keep getting stronger my darling," He whispered into the thick air. Draco rolled into his shoulder and pressed his face to it, crying tears he swore he wouldn't cry.
And Harry lay there, occasionally clucking or squeezing his fingertips, helping him over the hurdle until the inevitable next one came along.
