It was dark; but not the uncomfortable darkness, not the kind that stole away your soul and refused to give back. No, this darkness was gentle. It was a smooth gulp of scotch kind of darkness. Where Harry could just lay there and think. Think about the past, think about what could've been and what never was. He would lie there, listening to the steady beating of his husbands breathing. Watch his chest rise and fall. He could do that for hours; in fact he wished it was always this dark; always this quiet. Quiet meant no one was judging them, quiet meant he could think all his hateful thoughts, cry his bitter tears and no one would hear him, no one would see him. The darkness shrouded him, protected him from everyone and everything, the darkness was his guilty pleasure.
Sometimes he would sit on the bed, legs crossed underneath him, and just look at Draco. He would reach out to those silken strands, caress those chiseled cheeks but could never do it. He had so many worries, so many questions and angry words that needed to be voiced. They were eating him from the inside, slowly. Every day it was harder and harder to let go of the darkness and bring in the day. He was so tired of facing the people he didn't want to see; but most of all he was tired of facing his husband.
His beautiful Draco. Harry never cherished anything as much as he cherished Draco. He would walk on glass, through fire and to the depths of hell for his beautiful dragon. Anything and everything. His savior when no one would save him. But not anymore. The chairs in front of the fire place where they used to sit and read were cold. No one had been there for years. The breakfast nook they built because they wanted to see each other in the morning, "a perfect way to start my day" Draco had said... they hadn't eaten together in so long. Draco would wake up early to go manage the Prophet and Harry would leave in the afternoon till late night for muggle London; he had found happiness in baking for people. The way someone's eyes would light up when they tasted one of his cookies would always make him smile. Sometimes he felt happier with muggles than with wizards, muggles were so carefree with their time. Sometimes he liked to pretend to clean up the shop when there were couples in his bakery, sometimes they sat there for hours just talking and eating donuts. Harry got so envious of them; they were so full of everything he wasn't. He was so hollow now-a-days, empty and tired.
"We're going to be so perfect together…" Draco vowed at their wedding; he didn't need to say anything else. All Harry ever wanted was perfection; be perfect for the Wizarding World, be perfect for his friends, for his family and for his Draco. But, lying in their bed, Harry doubted the perfection they had created. All he wanted to was to mean something again, to have a purpose in this marriage. It was all falling apart so painlessly, so quietly that no one was noticing. He didn't even think Draco was noticing, he was so wrapped up in his work, in everything but Harry that he was blissfully happy. Blissfully unaware. But Harry knew, his aching fingers knew why they couldn't reach out to Draco, his broken spirit knew, the quiet wrapping him firmly in her arms knew.
Draco would never reach back.