A/N: So I had this idea rattling around my head for a few nights and I just had to write it out. It would be great if I got anything sort of response, whether I should continue this at all. Even just a "cool". Disclaimer Harry Potter is not mine, nor any of the characters.

…

Draco was vaguely aware that the soft tap, tap, tap on his roof meant yet another rainy day. His head felt fuzzy as it swarms with the possibilities of descriptive words for rain. Soft, cold, clean. Clouds covering the blue tinted sky to cleanse everything below with a mist of icy precipitation. Ah so clean, so smeared. Rain drops smearing the earth below in whims of convergence between sky and earth. His arms feel so heavy lain on his pale lavender sheets. Lavender that absorbs all his red and anger. That swaddles his heavy fingers that twitch with the urge to flex, to twitch into action, or perhaps to move in strokes of edged ink. He was roughly aware of losing his mind in swirls of desperate need.

he was however painfully stripped of his words and sharply strangled into alertness by his screeching alarm clock. The blaring red fluorescent light screaming at his satisfying quirks to quiet themselves. He could never unveil what laid beneath the layer of pale skin. Could never let the light of his colorful mind erupt through his translucent grey eyes. He was just another speck of walking flesh and bones in a town which thrives on stability and conservation.

The morning is a tangle of sheets thrown, legs tangling in ripped denim and arms enveloped in green sleeves. Its walking through eerily quiet halls with haunting portraits. He doesn't see his ghost of a mother in the kitchen drowning tea like it'll warm her cold carcass. He doesn't see the portrait of his father as he descends the staircase, because really, the last time he saw his father was when he brought home several suspicious men from "work." The morning is just a haze of quiet, lonely, and rambunctious words to remind him he is a caged writer in a jail house.

His father once found him in a corner of the house scratching ink into torn pages from his mother's journal. He had turned scarlet and erupted like a volcano,

"Malfoys are businessmen, they are certainly not writers. I will never allow it. "he had screamed, I fear even the roses in the garden had heard his thundering voice.

I had never considered myself a writer, more like a broken poet who had been the best in a past life. But Malfoys were businessmen and so I sewed my lips together, speaking like a ceramic doll my father had created himself. That however had crashed and burned when he entered high school. He father had been furious when Draco had come home with excellent marks in English and creative writing, but average scores in math and business. This is where color meshed together, where he started floating through life rather than living through it. He had essentially been disowned for his lack of industrial skill. School became unbearable.

School was like a library with books who had empty pages. Redundant and tedious. Filled with soundless voices and blank faces. He had been one of them, but he had been snapped into a sphere of mind-bending events. A new student, dropped off in this grey world that seem to erupt into color with his very soft smiles. A boy. Ah a boy with soft and sharp lines. Perfectly flawed.

This moment was the first time my fingers had ached in years…

Every curve of you had me speechless, and when you looked at me I knew you would be the one to destroy me.

…

Harry was aware that for the past few weeks he was still labeled as the "new kid." Having moved to a town in the middle of nowhere that seemed to meld with the surrounding pine trees after his parents had passed away had been surprising. Sure, he anticipated a move, but not to such a remote town. His godfather, Sirius, had showed up to their little apartment in New York with a long face and a handful of papers. The following days had been a blur, constantly packing and blinking away his tears. He didn't really remember the whole event if he was honest with himself.

He had awoken in a bright room filled with teetering stacks of boxes. His alarm a few minutes from playing its little annoying tune. Get up, wash teeth, get dressed and caffeine. It had always been his ritual.

The first days of school were spent cursing at his grumpy locker and avoiding everybody's questioning glares. His classes were like the ones he had been enrolled into in his previous school. The second week was more bearable, he made two friends, Hermione from history and Ron from science. They were nice and sometimes he saw Ron sneaking glances at Hermione during lunch break. Once he had sat next to them during lunch he meet a few others, everyone at school seemed divided into four cliques. Hermione tried explaining it to him once, but all he understood is that everyone was divided here and no one ever made a move to interact with others. It was nothing compared to his old life.

A few weeks in he started noticing a boy in his and Hermione's history class.

"who's that?" he was suspicious the boy had been watching him.

"Oh, that's Draco Malfoy, best stay clear of him Harry I hear he's a tad crazy" Hermione had said returning to her history book.

Harry had tried, he really had, but days passed and he was sure he could see this Malfoy boy looking at him throughout history class. Curiosity killed the cat, his father had once told him curiosity could be just as dangerous as a gun. He had been warned after all that this boy was a tad off, but he became obsessed. Watching himself being watched by steel grey eyes was intoxicating.

Distracted, Harry would watch the boys pale form from the corner of his eye instead of learning about WWI. History became grey eyes, nervous bitten lips, and quivering fingers. Pale long fingers that never seemed to grasp a pencil for countless history notes, but still trembled anxiously. Surprisingly Harry only noticed Malfoy, he thought he should call him something if he was going to practically stalk him, pick up his pencil towards the end of class. He would see yellow movement, faint and soft sliding over polished wood. Scribbles onto a desk that would be just as quickly erased. It was confusing and driving him absolutely mad!

Today was different. Harry knew today would be different. He went about his day normally. Waiting for something to happen, pop quizzes, fire drill, someone breaking the unspeakable clique rules, maybe even Ron and Hermione announcing their newfound love for each other, but nothing happened. He even watched Malfoy squirm and twitch till the bell rang, signaling the end of class and school day. Nothing remotely had happe-

"Hermione, did you see Malfoy erase his notes?" he whispered, frozen a few steps away from the classroom.

"I don't know? Honestly Harry some of us actually pay attention in class, why?" Hermione replied, the look on her face was one of confusion and suspicion. He couldn't blame her, a few weeks back she had noticed his sudden interest in Malfoy and simply told him to keep his distance. After a while she stopped commenting on his continuous staring.

"I think I forgot something in class" he knew his voice was rushed, but he couldn't remember pale fingers erasing scratched notes. It might be nothing he knew that, it was probably Malfoy professing his hatred for the class, the teacher, maybe even the world, but he had to know for sure.

"Harry I don-"

"I'll meet you and Ron at his house!" He was already turned towards the classroom door walking in big strides. Gliding down the rows of desks and chairs till he reached Malfoy's. The one in the corner next to the window. Harry only sat two rows away, Hermione and an empty desk between him and Malfoy.

There written in soft pencil strokes made his breath hitch.

Green, Green, Green, all I see is green.

Destroying me from the inside out, Green, Green, Green.

Vicious green tearing me apart, sweet green cradling me, sad green looking at me…